Peter Giggled
by TheRabidHOBBITFangirls
Summary: In which Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs deal with Many Things in their sixth year, such as one blackmailing Snivels, three crushes, one obsession, pranks, and etc. Rated T for language, nudity, homosexuality, and rather perverted humour.
1. Pink Hats and Tentacle Sex

Authors' Note: The rabid fangirls have returned, now available in the flavor of the Marauders! While this is not a cameo-style fic, be assured that we are as insanely random as ever, and hopefully as funny, perverted, and. . .um. . . . You know, I don't even remember the title of our last fic.

Twitch would like to mention that she also hopes we have improved, as a general whole, in the last year and a half or so.

Kindly note that, at this time, _Peter Giggled_ does not have a beta. We beta everything ourselves, so if the grammar, spelling, or typing is atrocious, do forgive us.

This was composed entirely over AIM and Gmail. Using Microsoft Word and Wordpad. In ten point Times New Roman and one inch margins. Just in case you wanted to know.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TWITCH! LOVE, AYE.

Disclaimer: . . .grumbles

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"Moooony," he said, "Mooonymooonymoooony."

Remus batted at him idly, more interested in his rather large textbook.

"Moony!" Sirius said with great insistence. "Look at me!"

"Shh," hissed Remus.

"Never!" Sirius declared loudly. "Look at my hat!"

"The unrelenting knowledge of Hogwarts, A History is more important than you right now."

"But look at me! Look at my hat!"

Remus reluctantly tore his eyes away from what must have been a riveting account of how Godric Gryffindor bewitched the ceiling of the Great Hall. "WHAT!" he shouted, as much as one Remus Lupin can shout.

"Don't you like it, Moony?" Sirius bounced a little on the table upon which he was sprawling, "I got it at a Muggle shop."

Remus blinked slowly. "What . . . is that?"

"A HAT, dumbarse!" Sirius smiled grinned amiably, "Isn't the colour great?"

Remus stammered for a few seconds, then regained his bearings, and with as much dignity as he could, replied, "It has bells, Sirius. Bells!"

"I know!" Sirius exclaimed, shaking his head enthusiastically. The bells tinkled happily, causing Remus to wrinkle his nose in distaste. Just as he was about to say something else about the atrocity, there was a loud bang behind him.

"YOU'LL NEVER CATCH MEEEEEEEEE!" A grey blur streaked through the room, screeching in a manner that indicated James. And of course, with James, Peter was never far behind.

"Wait . . . I . . . give it back . . . oh come on. . . . Hi Remus, Sirius. Nice hat."

As Peter stood panting in the middle of the room, James made a flying leap towards Sirius' head. "Brilliant," he proclaimed, tossing the hat in the air. Despite being an excellent Chaser, James was not very well coordinated on the ground, and the hat fell into the fireplace, where it promptly burst into flames. The hat gave a last tinkle of despair, and expired.

"JAMES POTTER YOU WANKING BERK I'LL KILL YOU FOR THAT," Sirius roared. He leapt up from the table and tackled James with a loud "OOMPH." Peter giggled hysterically as Sirius wrestled James to the ground, sat on his back, and forced him to sing "God Save the Queen" in falsetto as penance. Having finally released himself from Sirius' death grip, James stood and straightened his robes. "We," he announced, "have a plan."

Remus looked up from his book, larger and dustier than the one before it, asking skeptically, "What kind of plan? Does it involve glitter? Does it involve pumpkin juice? Will anything be contaminated with porridge?"

Sirius cackled gleefully, "No, even better!"

Peter shivered, and huddled closer to the sofa for comfort.

"Gather 'round, children, and you shall hear the midnight plans of Sirius revered."

Remus sighed a long-suffering sigh and buried his head in his book again.

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The next morning at breakfast, Sirius could barely keep his juice down. He snorted, very inelegantly, into Remus's plate of eggs and mumbled excitedly to James. Meanwhile, Remus buried his face in his hands.

"Honestly, you two, don't you think this is going a bit too far?" he whispered pitifully, "The singing rats were one thing, and the porridge bowl was another, but this is just appalling."

Sirius slung an arm about Remus' shoulders, "Mate, we're the Marauders and this is Snivelly! Besides, there's no such thing as 'going a bit too far.'" He beamed.

"There's no real need to worry," quipped James, "there's nothing incriminating about it, aside from the colour of your face. Almost matches your tie, really."

Peter giggled.

Just as Remus had resigned himself to impending doom, and had begun to dig into something other than spit-covered eggs, the Great Hall exploded in a flurry of feathers and the noise of flapping wings.

Sirius watched expectantly as two owls made their way directly to Snape's place, one burdened with a suspiciously heavy package, the other with a suspiciously red envelope. James grinned in glee at the expression on Snape's face. It was one of shock, horror, and mad confusion. The owl swooped and deposited the envelope into his porridge, where it began to smoke most unpleasantly. Despite the smoke, Snape's attention was fixed solely upon the rather large and heavy package that had landed on his lap in a most unfortunate place.

The howler, unattended by the distracted Snape, burst into flame, and a shrieking voice that sounded uncannily like Lucius Malfoy filled the hall. At the same instant, Snape tore into the heavy package. A cacophony of oddly strung together screeches joined Malfoy's voice as a veritable army of graying underwear soared out of the package, flapping around Snape's head and cawing loudly.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, SNAPE?" Malfoy's voice screamed, "WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING WITH THE GOD DAMNED FUCKING SQUID LAST NIGHT? I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'D CHOOSE TENTACLES OVER HOT PUREBLOODED MAN LOVIN'." At this, James burst into hysterical laughter.

Peter beamed proudly, "I was always rather good at impressions," he blushed.

"HONESTLY, THAT GREAT SLIMY BEAST IS NOTHING COMPARED TO ME. NOTHING! AND SPEAKING OF SLIMY, YOU LITTLE ARSE-BASTARD, YOU LEFT A LITTLE SOMETHING–" Here, Snape, looking utterly mortified, fled from the Hall, his flock of underwear in tow, brow-beating him merrily and cawing all the way.

The Great Hall was in an uproar. Students cheered. Teachers gaped in shock. Lucius Malfoy upended tables in a fury. And the Marauders congratulated one another heartily.

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Back in the common room, Sirius danced joyfully about. "The Marauders have done it again!" he shouted, "We shall triumph over the WORLD!" With this stirring remark, he sprang off the table and landed squarely on James' just-finished transfiguration essay.

"Get out of that, Black!" James yelled, too engrossed in a swordfight with Peter to do anything, "I'll have your arse if you've smudged it!"

Sirius craned his head and inspected his ink-blotched bottom sorrowfully. "Sorry, arse. You're in the possession of James Potter now. Don't forget me when you've gone, and always remember that time you and I declared our undying love for each other. . . .

Remus sighed and said "_Scourgify!_" in Sirius' general direction. Sirius gave an exclamation of delight and bounded over to Remus, licking his face in appreciation.

"Oh, Moony, savior of bottoms and essays that belong to wrathful fellows like that great, ugly git over there–" At this, James gave a indignant shout– "How can I ever express my undying gratitude to you?"

Remus wrinkled his nose and shoved at Sirius' face, "You could – what is your tongue doing to my ear?"

Sirius smiled a great doggy smile and suddenly he was a dog, licking Remus' ear happily and slobbering over his shoulder.

"Sirius – agh – Sirius, if you don't get off me I'm going to have to stab you with my quill," Remus waved his quill threateningly at the great black dog that was now sprawling belly-up over his lap, "Where it hurts," he added.

The dog whimpered and became a rather naked Sirius, who pouted and said, "Moony! All I wanted was a belly rub!"

Remus gaped. "Where the _hell _are your clothes?"

Sirius looked around vaguely, then said, apparently unperturbed, "Good question. I've no idea."

From the other side of the room, there was a traumatized whimper as Peter covered his eyes with his hands. James took this opportunity to deal a final blow with his fake sword, declaring, "I win!"

"Sirius, I really am going to stab you if you don't get off and get some clothes on, you great, bloody poofter," Remus half-squinted and half-glared a little to the left of Sirius' head.

Sirius sulked, "There are people who would give their ears to have me lie naked on them, and all you do is threaten to stab me."

"Yes, well, this person's ears are full of dog slobber," Remus said, prodding Sirius in the belly with the quill, "Get off!"

Sirius whinged loudly once more, but after a particularly vicious stab from Remus' quill, he launched himself off the chair with elephantine grace, landing in an ungainly heap on the floor.

"James wouldn't mind if I sat on him naked, would you Prongs?" Sirius said loudly, still very naked.

"Oh no, don't drag me into this," James called from across the room. "I'm not getting involved in your sordid love affairs, Padfoot."

"But they're interesting sordid love affairs."

"Not when they involve you climbing all over Remus in the nude," said Peter, still looking thoroughly mortified. He clicked his tongue, "You two are disgusting."

"I had nothing to do with it!" cried Remus in indignation. "I was molested! Molested, I tell you! And speaking of disturbing, Sirius, go put some clothes on."

"No," said Sirius, "I'm enjoying the freedom." He stretched lazily on the carpet, grinning broadly.

Remus sighed, exasperated, and waved his wand "_Accio, Sirius' clothes_." There were a series of loud thumps before every item of clothing Sirius owned, including his shiniest and most embarrassing pair of Valentine's-print boxers, soared down the stairs towards Remus. Remus flicked his wand once more, and the clothes changed direction mid-air and landed in a tremendous heap atop Sirius.

Sputtering, Sirius clawed his way out of the pile. "Moony, you awful, terrible, evil, mean, unfeeling git!" James stifled a laugh behind his hand, causing Sirius to wheel around and glare at him. "What's so funny?" Sirius was absolutely livid.

"Your . . . head." James dissolved into uncontrolled laughter.

"My head's funny, is it? I'll show you funny!" Sirius went to leap at James.

"No, Sirius, it really is your head. Reach up." Remus interrupted, likely preventing Sirius from causing James great bodily harm.

Sirius reached up to touch his head, only to find that the very shiny, very red, very sparkly boxers were rested jauntily atop it. "Remus! This is not on."

Remus merely raised one eyebrow. "Looks better than that other hat did."

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Potions with Professor Slughorn was never very interesting, but at least it was not the slack-jawed boredom of History of Magic. The Marauders generally took this time to discuss plans for disrupting meals, pranking their fellow peers, debasing Snape, and other such vital parts of their lives.

"Pads. . . Pads!" James hissed.

Sirius carefully finished stirring in the final ingredient to his potion, bubotuber pus, and inclined his head towards James. "What?" he whispered under his breath.

"Pads, Snivellus is looking at you funny," James murmured. Sirius whipped around to look. Snape was not only 'looking at him funny', but glowering at Sirius with utmost malice, muttering under his breath.

Sirius turned back to James, "He's finally cracked, then?"

Peter giggled.

Remus leaned over and gently nudged Sirius in the shoulder, "You might want to get your wand out."

Sirius looked vaguely at Remus and said with mild incredulity, "Whatever for?"

"Bugger," Remus said, "_Protego!_"

Just as the words had left Remus' mouth, there was a bang, a flash of light, and a good deal of smoke. When the haze had cleared and the classroom was again visible, it became readily apparent that Snape's hex had missed its mark. Peter had landed in Sirius's cauldron, and all that could be seen of him was an arm, hanging limply over the side.

Sirius, a look of livid fury on his face, whipped out his wand and turned on Snape, shouting, "_Furnunculus!_" Snape was propelled backwards with a cry, upending his own cauldron and landing heavily on his arse.

"Holy _shit_," Remus said. He ran over to the cauldron Peter was currently occupying and dragged out a disheveled blond head. "Peter, Peter, are you alright?"

"Glub," said Peter, most eloquently.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit. . . ."

James tackled Sirius, who screamed, "What the fuck are you doing, James? This slimy bastard nearly drowned Peter!"

"Shut. . .up," James panted, trying to restrain Sirius' wand arm with his entire body, "Shut up, you're going to get us into such deep shit. . . . Fuck, Sirius, stop!"

Sirius wrenched himself free and threw himself bodily at Snape, resorting to a more Darwinian fashion of fighting.

"Peter!" Remus cried.

"Sirius!" James yelled.

"Bastard!" Sirius snarled.

"STOP!" Professor Slughorn shouted, and with a bang, separated the struggling pile on the floor. "Twenty points from Slytherin and Gryffindor each, and detention for Mr. Black and Mr. Snape!"

"Greasy shitface," Sirius sneered.

"On second thought, make that thirty for profanity, Mr. Black," Professor Slughorn tutted, "Never in my life have I heard such language!"

"He's come round!" Remus shouted. "Peter! Are you okay?"

"Hey, guys!" Peter giggled, "Howyadoin?"

"Oh, my god," James groaned, "This is awful."

Peter giggled again, bouncing about in his cauldron. "This feels just like a swimming pool! A really small, warm swimming pool!"

"Erm," Remus shifted uncomfortably, before nearly being knocked over as an enormous sneeze erupted from Peter's mouth.

Professor Slughorn bustled over. "Ah, yes, that would be one of the unfortunate side effects of an overdose of Pepper-Up. Go see Madam Pomfrey, she should be able to put it right in a jiffy."

On the other side of the room, Snape winced with every move, clearly affected by the curse Sirius had so recently cast. He was sporting a brilliantly purple black eye, as well as a trickle of blood from his nose.

Slughorn glanced at him, his expression a barely disguised grimace, "Er, you'd best go up to the hospital wing as well."

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Sirius stood at the door of the potions dungeon, head slightly bent and fists curled. It opened wide to reveal a jolly-looking Slughorn, or at least his jolly-looking belly. "Mr. Black, so glad you could join us! Mr. Snape arrived just a few minutes before you. Won't you come in?" The sugary happiness of Professor Slughorn's voice was nearly sickening, and Sirius stifled his desires to run screaming back to Gryffindor tower as he followed him into the room. Saturday night detention was bad enough, but compounded with Snape's greasy-haired countenance lurking in the corner of the classroom and the large cauldron in the middle that appeared to be full of very boiled toads, Sirius was rather hoping there would be some kind of natural disaster, preferably one that ran directly through the dungeons.

Professor Slughorn, unaware of the unpleasant, yet hopeful, thoughts running through Sirius' head, beamed jovially and said, "Well, I'll just be leaving you two here. Toads are in that cauldron, pickled ones go into those jars there, and I'll come to collect you both at eleven o'clock, sharp." There was a quiet _snick_ as he shut the door behind him, leaving nothing but Snape, Sirius, and the unpleasant stench of boiled toads.

Sirius turned to Snape, a wry smirk on his face. He inhaled deeply, then wrinkled his nose. "Ah," he said, "nothing like the smell of Slytherin in the evening. Though the toads almost mask it." He sneered. "Almost."

"I would think you were immune to stink by now, Black, living among mudbloods and blood traitors as you do." Snape said, unveiled malice soaking every word.

Sirius eyed a toad speculatively. "Looks a bit like your mum, doesn't it, Snivels?" He held the toad next to Snape's face, squeezing it and making unpleasant squelching noises.

Snape scowled and slashed viciously at the toad in front of him. "Ah, look at that. Bears a remarkable likeness to Lupin, doesn't it?"

"Get stuffed." Sirius's face was a mask of rage.

"Oho, struck a nerve, have I?" Snape looked thoroughly chuffed. "Got a bit of a soft spot for your mangled mate?"

"I said," growled Sirius, "get stuffed." He threw a toad into the cauldron so hard it bounced out and rolled across the stone floor, squelching all the way.

"And what's this I hear about a 'furry little problem?' Some sort of hair overgrowth potion? Don't tell me you've been letting _Lupin_ near cauldrons again."

"That's none of your goddamned business, _Snivelly_," Sirius snarled.

"Touché, Black," Snape smirked, "What's the matter, feeling a bit overprotective of your boyfriend?"

Sirius made a jab for Snape's hand with the knife they were using to gut the frogs. Snape snatched his hand back, his face contorted into an ugly snarl. Sirius laughed, "What's the matter, Snivellus, feeling a bit overprotective of _your_ boyfriend?"

"Bastard," Snape hissed.

"Filth," Sirius squeezed a boiled toad to its pop-eyed death, "You'll never measure up to Remus."

"How could you stand to consort with such muggle lovers, Black?" Snape stood fingering his wand, a nasty smile twisting his pale lips.

"Perhaps some of us are less closed-minded than others, Snivellus," snarled Sirius, throwing toads into the cauldron with vengeance.

"Really, Black," Snape breathed, "Would you care to provide yourself as an example?"

Sirius looked nonplussed, "What?"

"_Legilimens!_" Snape cried.

He was on his knees, bent before a heavy book while his mother shrieked, "You are a pureblood! You are a member of the house of Black! You have a name to uphold! Honor to fulfill!" He ached. . . . He was laughing with James on the train; it was the first time he had ever ridden it. . . . He had never been so happy in his life. . . ."Hi, I'm Remus Lupin," a small boy said, shyly. . . . Regulus' triumphant eleven-year-old face as the Sorting Hat screamed, "SLYTHERIN!". . . .Remus lying pale and weak on the hospital bed, eyes fluttering helplessly. . . . And with that memory came a gust of longing that threatened to overwhelm him. . . .

"NO!" Sirius heard himself shout, and felt the hard, cold stone beneath his body, reassuring, unmoving stone. Snape looked aghast.

"_You?_ A _crush_ on _Remus Lupin?_" The disgust turned to glee as Snape contemplated the oh-so-many possibilities of blackmail. Lovely, beautiful, wonderful blackmail. . . "Seems like some of us are a bit more open minded than we thought."

"FUCK YOU! YOU WANT TO SEE A GODDAMNED FURRY LITTLE PROBLEM SO FUCKING BAD, WHY DON'T YOU GO AND FUCK THE WHOMPING WILLOW," Sirius screamed, and hurled himself at Snape's throat. "YOU FUCKING PIECE OF SLIME!"

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"Mr. Black, I am stunned, _stunned,_ that any of my students would behave in this way. Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a week's worth of detention. Any misdemeanors during that week will result in possible expulsion, do you understand?"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," Sirius muttered. A purple bruise bloomed on his cheekbone and blood dribbled down his lip. His knuckles were split, a minor reprimand for punching Snape in the face multiple times. One of his toes felt as if it had fractured.

Professor McGonagall's nostrils had gone white and her lips were pressed together in a pale line. Her hat trembled as she said, "You may go."

Sirius stormed out of her office, furious at himself, at Snivellus, at Remus, at everything.

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When he finally made his way back to the Gryffindor common room, leaving behind several shocked portraits and one very mauled table, he found Remus and James waiting for him. Peter had fallen asleep in an armchair by the fire. Someone (most likely James) had taken the opportunity to write the word 'WANKER' in large block print all over his face.

"Pads!" James cried, flinging himself around Sirius' shoulders, "How was it?"

Sirius snarled something incoherent and violently threw James off. Remus stiffened as James stumbled over the sofa, hurt.

"Sirius?" he asked, cautiously. Sirius said nothing, but instead thundered up to the dormitories.

"Wow," James said, "I wonder what happened. Must've been really awful."

Remus shook his head, "We'd better leave him alone for a bit."

James shrugged, and sprawled over the sofa.

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Remus awoke with a jerk, the side of his face sticking to the fabric of the sofa. James lay beside him, snoring loudly while Peter, now snoozing on the floor, whuffled in his sleep. The fire had died, leaving nothing but glowing coals that gently threw wavering light against the ink on Peter's face.

Shivering, but ever considerate, he transfigured some throw pillows into blankets for James and Peter, and made his way up the stairs.

Sirius was still up, fully dressed and sitting by the windows. Remus leaned against the wall beside him, silent. The moonlight threw Sirius' features into sharp relief, his lashes casting long shadows against high cheekbones, his lips silvered and frowning, accentuated by the trickle of dried blood.

Remus shuddered, feeling the pull of the waxing moon. Sirius turned to look at him, an angry look, but the anger was not directed at him.

"Professor McGonagall gave me detention for a week," Sirius said abruptly, "I beat up Snivelly again. She says that if I do anything bad for a week I'll get suspended and she took fifty points." He licked his lips. "That bastard deserved to be beaten up. He said you . . . and then . . . ." Sirius grumbled indistinctly, "'Furry little problem," more grumbling, "And I . . . he was . . . bloody toad . . . like to hex the bastard's greasy nose off . . . fucking deserved it . . . ."

Remus let him babble into silence, suddenly feeling very awkward. He felt that if he said anything he might cause Sirius to fly into a rage. He had never been very good with people.

"You've blood on your face," he said instead. Sirius reached up, surprised. Remus licked his thumb and rubbed it off, not noticing when Sirius' breath caught in his throat, nor when the blood beneath the skin rose and quickened and fell.

"Thanks," Sirius whispered.

Remus fiddled with his robes while Sirius watched him. "Are you feeling better?"

Sirius gave a crooked sort of smile and wrapped Remus in a sort of bear hug. It surprised him, and his arms got caught in an uncomfortable jumble by his sides. He felt his ribs pop.

"Remus. . . ." Sirius murmured. And he rapidly let go, blushing. "Er. Bed for me, then." He quickly disappeared behind the curtains of his bed.

Remus felt rather confused. Had Sirius stolen his underwear again? Shrugging, he, too, went to bed.

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In the hospital wing Snape chuckled to himself. An Ode to Blackmail, he thought.

Blackmail!

Oh, to blackmail Black!

Blackmail, blackmail, mail for Black,

Black's mail will soon be blackmail

and all mail that is black will be for Black!

He hummed tunelessly and twirled his quill between his fingers as he began to compose a letter in his head.

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End Note: Aye apologizes for the awful sappiness of the dormitory scene. No, she doesn't, because Twitch thinks it's adorable. But both Aye and Twitch would appreciate it very much if you were to prod that lovely little review button and leave us a comment. Grammatical, spelling, and typographical errors encourage you to report them, as they are nasty little buggers and ought to die.


	2. A Peace Offering

Authors' Note: Dear Bob in Square Hell, we are so, so, so, so, SO sorry for the incredibly long wait. Time flies when you have AP classes in which you get B's (this NEVER HAPPENS to ANY of my Asian brethren! Gah! Bad Asian! Bad!). School has been excruciatingly difficult so far, and Twitch and I have been struggling to Keep Up. We hope you forgive us. Really, we do.

This is not an actual chapter but random bits of brain splurge that didn't really fit into the plot. A peace offering, if you will, to apologize in a most heartfelt manner for the slowness of our brains.

Chapter Two will be done very soon, as we are rapidly approaching the 4000 word mark. Stick with us! Read! Review! Flame! Kill! RAWR!

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The noon sun found Sirius and Remus in the common room; Sirius splayed all over the floor and Remus sitting at a table, completing his Tranfiguration homework.

"Moony," Sirius remarked, "Moony, help me. There is a _very shiny_ red and green beetle on the window and I wish to collect it and call it Father Christmas but I can't seem to be able to get up."

"You've got your feet tangled in the rug," Remus observed, "Try getting out of it."

There was a pause.

"I don't think this rug likes my feet very much. It seems to have devoured them." Sirius looked very surprised at this discovery and flailed at his eaten feet unhappily. Remus sighed.

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"I think Father Christmas has adapted quite well to his red party cup," said Sirius, "He's hanging upside down from a blade of grass and waving his legs in a distressed manner." He paused, examining his captive, "Oh, he stopped waving!"

"Oh, he's dead," Remus muttered.

"No, his antennae are still twitching, see?"

"Lots of bugs move after they've died."

"Oh." Sirius peered morosely at his bug. After a short pause, he shouted, startling Remus so he dropped his quill. "HE MOVED! HE'S ALIVE! Moony, you lied." Sirius glared at him accusingly.

Remus looked slightly affronted, "I was only kidding."

"I'm sure you were, you berk." Sirius stuck his face in his cup, nose almost brushing the beetle, "Don't worry, Father Christmas. I won't let evil Moony hurt you or convince you you're dead." He scowled again at Remus.

Remus rolled his eyes. "Next thing you know you'll be snogging the thing. Honestly, you idiot, you hardly know him. Besides, he's an insect. You know, the little crawly things with six legs."

"Jealous, are you, Moony? I know your loins pine for me and all, but I've found someone else." Sirius stroked the beetle affectionately. Remus merely snorted, tossing a balled-up piece of parchment at Sirius, and returned to his homework.

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"Oh, god," Remus said, "What the hell is that?"

"A sipder!" Sirius beamed, "I made it myself!"

James flicked a piece of lint off his shirt, and without batting an eyelash, asked, "What's the gold ribbon for?"

Sirius blinked at him. "It's for SHININESS, idiot. I like shiny things."

"You would," said Remus sardonically, "and may I remind you that it has not always led you down the right path. The next time your gobstones fall out of your pocket, you would do well not to follow them between Marlene McKinnon's legs."

"That," Sirius grumbled, "was an ACCIDENT. A-C-C-I-D-E-N-T, comma, A-K-A, NOT MY FAULT." He prodded the sipder, which made a disturbing amount of noise for something that was not supposed to be alive.

Peter stared at the sipder warily. "So . . . what exactly does it _do_?"

"Well," Sirius puzzled for a minute, "er. You can drink out of it, 'cos I stuck the straw thing in it. And," he paused, deep in thought, "it bites if you squeeze it too hard." At this the sipder's, shall we say, _appendages_, swayed in a way that conveyed that it was not swaying because Sirius was swaying, but because it felt like swaying all by itself.

Remus gaped. "Ah. . . Sirius. . . . That thing is. . . moving. Of its own volition." He edged away.

"Is it?" asked Sirius, a little vaguely. He prodded it, causing it to squeak and wave its appendages in an agitated manner. "Oooh!"

There was a small silence as everyone turned to look at the sipder.

"Ow!" They jumped. "It bit me!"

At this indignant proclamation, the sipder hissed menacingly. Eight, glowing red eyes flared open, fixed upon Sirius' face.

"Ohmygod," Sirius said, and dropped it on the floor, where it scuttled over to the open window and, much to Sirius' consternation, leaped away.

"NOOO! SIPDER! COME BACK! I DIDN'T MEAN IT!" Sirius wailed, waving his arms out the window.

"Shut up, Sirius, you look a right idiot," Remus said sternly, tugging the mourning Sirius back down. "Anyways, it was your fault you lost it."

"Oh, unfeeling Moony!" Sirius sighed, collapsing onto James' lap, "Cruel, unfeeling Moony!"

"Gerroff," James mumbled into Sirius' hair, "Hairtasthsbad."

Sirius grumbled, collapsing into one large Padfoot heap on the floor. "You are all," he declared, "unfeeling, wanking berks."

"Really?" James smirked, "I could've been sure that was you in that stall the other day, moaning about –"

"James!" Sirius hissed, "Shut up!"

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End Note: WE PROMISE CHAPTER TWO WILL BE OUT SOON!


	3. Bits Eating Spiders

Author's Note: Twitch would like to apologise for the horrible lateness (TWO MONTHS, PEOPLE) of this chapter. She does, however, hope that this will be rectified (Heh. Rectified.) by the incredible length of it. She also hopes that the next chapter will be up much sooner (but it's only a hope).

Aye would like to apologize for the astounding juxtaposition of moods in this chapter, as well as the awful emoness of practically every other scene. It will get better, she promises. Less emo, more randomness and possibly humor.

We cherish and cosset your reviews. We love you all so, so much. All of you! All! We'll get around to replying once we actually have time, which may or may not be soon. ROCK ON, REVIEWERS::hands out doggie plushies to all:

Disclaimer: Yeah, well, when Aye becomes a lawyer she'll sue EVERYONE and then we'll ALL own Harry Potter!

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Severus Snape walked out of the hospital wing, feeling like a new man (really, he had only changed his underwear, but that was change enough). The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and he, god of Odes to Blackmail, had written a letter.

He fairly nanced his way up to the owlery, much to the shock of his fellow peers.

"Oh, my god," whispered a second year, "Is he actually. . . _dancing_?"

The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Severus Snape was dancing.

---------------------------

"What's with Snivels this morning?" James asked, extemporaneously, poking disinterestedly at his toast.

"Yeah, he practically danced into breakfast," said Peter.

Sirius froze. This was Not Good. A dancing Snivellus was a portent of coming evils, disaster, DOOM. His eyes darted from side to side, searching desperately for an escape.

"Pads, pass the jam?"

"AUUUGH!" Sirius cried, and ran.

"Auuugh," agreed James. "Very polite chap, mannered, you know. Moony, jam?"

Remus handed it over while Peter giggled.

"Indigestion, maybe," Peter said, having finally overcome his sporadic fit of giggles, "The toast is looking kind of bad. Bit crusty, like."

"It's supposed to be crusty, idiot. It's _toast_," James replied.

"But I don't like the crust!"

Peter was prevented from continuing what was, no doubt, an extremely eloquent argument by the arrival of the owls, one of which dropped a greasy looking parchment onto the much debated, crusty toast.

---------------------------

"You've a letter," Remus said, waving a rather greasy and grayish piece of parchment. Sirius peered out at him from under the covers of his bed, looking terrified.

"Give that here." Sirius snatched the letter from Remus and dove back under the covers.

"Funny, you know. The parchment kind of reminds me of Snape's underwear." At this Sirius gave a constricted yelp of horror.

"What was that?" Remus asked, inattentively.

"Ah, nothing!" Sirius sprang out of the bed and scurried towards the door. "Absolutely nothing. Er. I have to go. Now. Very important stuff and such. You know. Classes . . . things. . . ."

"But today's Sunday –" Remus' protest was abruptly cut off by the slam of the door.

---------------------------

_To the Poofter Who Is in Love with Remus Lupin, _

_I expect that you retrieve these ingredients by next Monday:_

_Goblin Snot (5 g)_

_Glumbumble Treacle (2 kg)_

_Venemous Tentacula Venom (10 g)_

_Horn of Bicorn_

_Quintaped Fur_

_12 Fwooper Eggs_

_I must warn you that getting deliberately caught will not cease my demands. You will more than likely be expelled for possession of these ingredients, so I suggest that you take utmost caution in obtaining them._

Sirius' hands twisted at the letter. He wanted to smash that greasy fuckhead's face in, hang him from a tree with his own intestines, break that oily, titanic nose, anything. His fingers twitched convulsively. The crinkling of the paper was magnified tenfold by the acoustics of the boy's bathroom, accusing, condemning, trapping.

His mind raced frantically in circles, hopelessly trying to find a way to circumvent Snape's orders.

_Kill him!_ screamed a little corner of his mind.

_EEEEEEEEEEE!_ screeched another.

_DO SOMETHING!_ they shrieked in unison.

So he took a piss, washed his hands, and left the loo.

---------------------------

It had to be admitted, Remus thought, that Sirius Black was in a Bad Mood. This particular Bad Mood was not like any ordinary bad mood. It was the sort of Bad Mood that made the entire Gryffindor common room an unpleasant place to stay, what with the smell of burned possessions, dungbombs, and scorched fur wafting through the air.

This was why Remus Lupin was hiding under his bed, studying.

It was also why a certain Frank Longbottom was bouncing on the bed, humming loudly and waving his arms. It made the springs creak dust into Remus' eyes.

"Frank," he said, tiredly, "can you stop? Or at least move to a different bed?" There was a pause. There was a long, slow creeeeaak as Frank bent over to peer under the bed.

"Oh, hello, Remus. What are you doing there?"

". . . Studying."

"Is it comfortable?"

"Not really, no."

"Then why. . . ?"

"Just. Because."

Frank looked at him in some confusion. His face was turning red, probably because he was very much upside down.

"You've dust in your hair, you know."

"Yes."

"Just making sure you knew, you know. I'm off, now! Ta! Have fun studying!" Frank jumped off the bed, still humming loudly, and as far as Remus could tell, waving his arms.

James burst into the room, followed by Peter.

"Moony!" James shouted. Remus sighed, and poked his head from under the bed. "Moo – oh, Moony, there you are. Why are you under there?"

"Studying!" Frank shouted on his way out the door, "Studious chap, you know!"

"Your head is dusty," Peter informed him.

"Sirius is pissed off," James interrupted, "He set off dungbombs and burned bits of things in the common room. Did I put frogs in his underwear or something?"

"Not . . . that I know of," Remus said cautiously.

"Well, it smells really bad and Kingsley Shacklebolt kicked him out of the common room for disturbing the peace and I dunno, didn't he say something about detention for a week?"

Remus froze, horrified. He had completely forgotten about last night. Suspension! Expulsion! If Sirius was caught, he might be expelled. He threw himself violently from under the bed, thrusting his books into a bewildered Peter's arms.

"Ah, bathroom! Indigestion! Bye!" The door slammed shut behind him. Peter looked unhappily at the books.

"I told you the toast was bad looking."

---------------------------

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, punching eleven-year-olds?" Remus snapped, shoving Sirius into an empty classroom.

Sirius glared at the ground.

"They didn't even DO anything to you!"

"Yes, they did," Sirius snarled, "Got in my bloody fucking way is what they did."

"Sirius, that's no reason to punch a four foot tall firstie in the face," Remus paused, "Is there something wrong? You've been pissed all day."

"There's nothing wrong. I'm not pissed. Shut up and fuck off; it's none of your goddamned business."

Remus looked slightly hurt, but the hurt was drowned by rising irritation. "Are you asking for detention?"

Sirius sneered at him, "You don't have the balls, you fucking pansy," and sailed out of the classroom.

Remus looked at his hands, the door, his hands again. Something in his stomach knotted while his throat burned. Sirius was right – he didn't have the courage to stop him. The irritation died away, leaving only hurt that threatened to break over his head in endless, constricting waves.

Outside, small children dove frantically out of the way, frightened of the Terrifying Sixth Year Male who was currently storming through the halls. An unfortunate second year accidentally leaped headfirst into a particularly ugly bust of Petrovitch the Perverted, resulting in a concussion and copious administrations of _obliviate_.

Sirius fumed his way back to the bathroom, where he punched through two (2) mirrors, broke one (1) toilet seat, and snapped off three (3) taps. Flimsy things, school bathrooms.

He sat against the wall, nursing his bleeding knuckles. He could kill himself for being so stupid. He'd really done it this time.

The look of hurt on Remus' face loomed accusingly in his mind. His eyes burned, burned like his knuckles burned, burned like the rubbish he had exploded in the common room so recently before.

Remus had always been shy, and being ostracized from the rest of society from a very young age didn't do much to help. The taunts, the terrified parents, the struggle to find a school that would accept him all combined to make a sadder Moony, a lonely Moony, a Moony who knew that he would always be persecuted. He was a Moony with more hurt and wisdom than any normal teenager should have; he was a Moony that knew true friends were hard to come by.

Moony was his best friend, his crush, his guardian and his charge, and Sirius had used his knowledge of six years to hurt, to wound more deeply than the mocking of –

He needed to pee.

Nothing like a good teenage angst over the toilet.

---------------------------

Remus lay on his bed, twirling his wand between his fingers. If he were anything like Sirius, a mood like this would have prompted him to shoot sparks at the canopy of his bed, to rage and storm and perhaps knock Peter off a staircase. If he were anything like Sirius he could shout and rage and hex first years and not have to worry about being shipped off to a prison or executed for being a Dark Creature. If he were anything like Sirius, he noted, he would not be lying on his bed moping and contemplating lighting Sirius's bed on fire. Well, perhaps the last part, except the bed would already be on fire and there would be no contemplation involved.

He sighed and reached under his bed for a rather enormous book, burying his face in the pages and inhaling the scent of age-old leather and cracked yellow pages. If he were anything like Sirius, he would be in the process of hexing the book in question to bash people about the head and shoulders as they walked in the room.

Remus kind of wished he _were_ something like Sirius.

He also kind of wished he had a vomit pail nearer to his bed.

---------------------------

James was on top of the breakfast table, flailing madly.

"James!" hissed Remus, "What the hell? McGonagall is going to _see_."

James glanced over his shoulder. "Actually, I was hoping to get Frank's attention, but he's so bloody taken with that Alice . . . . McGonagall, you say? Maybe I should. Might cheer Sirius up a bit. He's been in an awfully . . . black mood lately, hasn't he?"

Peter giggled. "Black mood! Hah! D'you get it Moony? I get it. It's funny, you see, because his last name is--"

"Yes, Peter, I get it. James – no, don't, you've –"

There was a horrific crash and James tumbled headfirst off the table. Half of the Great Hall turned around to look as he grinned sheepishly and pulled his leg out of Remus' rather squelchy plate of eggs. Seeing opportunity in every mess and disaster, he picked up a handful and hurled them merrily at the back of Frank's head.

Frank turned around with a bemused expression on his face.

"Hallo, James!"

James waved cheerfully, "Hallo, Frank! D'you think I could get some syrup?"

"You wanted _syrup?_ _Syrup!_ There's syrup _right here!_" Fuming, Remus shook a large glass pitcher of syrup in James' face. Those eggs had been really quite tasty, and he felt obliged to avenge them.

"You don't understand, Moony! Frank's got this brilliant . . . woman syrup. It's fantastic, and I've got this idea–"

"Woman syrup?" Peter burst into another bout of hysterical giggles.

James looked at him curiously, "You know, I'd say that Pepper-Up Potion had made him a bit off, but I think he might have been like this before–"

James' words were cut off as he was violently strangled by his own robes. He swiveled, slightly blue, to see Professor McGonagall pulling him by his tie.

"Hallo, Professor," James choked, "Lovely breakfast, what?"

"_Mister_ Potter," she snapped, "Great though your table dancing skills may be, we at Hogwarts do _not_ advocate such behavior, especially during breakfast." Her lips pursed into a severe line, she surveyed the lovely shade of blue that was James Potter. "Detention, Mister Potter, eight o' clock. You will be helping Madame Pomfrey scour bedpans. Wandless." She released his tie, and swept off.

James gasped in relief, massaging his throat. Remus looked at him sternly.

"Really, James. Woman syrup?"

Suddenly cheered, James leapt up and shouted, "FRANK! When can I get that, then?"

---------------------------

The first part of the day sped by in a blur for Sirius. He felt slightly drained and unreal, as if all the anger in the world had been released in a great big _whoosh_ of air the night before. He felt tired and unfamiliar, and his mind subconsciously puzzled over why he felt so.

They walked through the halls towards the potions classroom. He could see, hear, feel the people around him, and yet, he felt strangely disconnected from them. James prodded him in the ribs.

"Pads, you okay?"

Sirius looked at him and wondered if he didn't look okay because he didn't feel okay, but it wasn't a bad not-okay, and for some reason, he couldn't muster up enough energy to answer.

But then he looked through the doorway and saw Severus Snape, and it was as if an entire world of furor had smashed into his face.

Snape raised one eyebrow and sneered.

---------------------------

He crept silently down to the grounds, hidden securely under the invisibility cloak he had stolen from under James' bed. The moon hung above him, swinging heavy and watchful across the swirling mists of clouds. The greenhouses glinted in the light, waiting below him.

He felt _so cool_ to be sneaking around like this.

"Do dooo do do dooo do dooo dooo, doo do do doo do dooo," he half-hummed, half-whispered. Agent Double-Oh-Twenty, codename Pants of Sex, he thought to himself. He slid smoothly down the slope of the grassy hill, only to trip over a protruding rock half-way,

"Owshitbuggerfuck," he said, and tumbled down the hill.

---------------------------

Sirius hobbled painfully up the cursed hill that had caused him such injury, venom of Venemous Tentacula safely in his pocket. His sexiness felt much abated, due to serious contusions of arse and legs, and he cursed hills to a damnable eternity in hell as punishment for ruining his sexy agentness.

He was so taken with his cursing that he walked through the Hogwarts doors without even noticing, and promptly mashed into a column which he began cursing to a damnable eternity in hell, and on, and on, and on, until he found himself in a rather familiar corridor. A corridor which had once held a storming Sirius and squealing firsties.

He tiptoed towards the bust of Petrovich the Perverted, staring at his feet and hoping desperately that he wouldn't wake the sleeping statue. It might notice his torn trousers, which really would not end well.

Unfortunately, Petrovitch the Perverted was already awake.

Fortunately, its attention seemed to be taken . . . elsewhere.

---------------------------

Sirius refused to get out of bed. Except he was already out of bed, because Remus had him by one pajama-ed foot, dragging him towards the bathroom.

"NOOOO!" Sirius yelped, clinging desperately to his bedpost, "ARRGH!"

Remus marched on, firmly grasping his prize Sirius foot. He shoved Sirius into the loo, saying quite sternly, "WASH."

Sirius collapsed into a protesting heap on the floor. "GNNARR," he burbled.

"WASH," Remus intoned, slamming the door behind him.

---------------------------

Ten minutes later, he returned to the imprisoned Sirius, yelling through the door, "WASHED?"

Sirius replied with an extremely coherent, "EYARNNAHHHNNNGG."

Remus sighed. He placed a hand over his eyes as protection and threw open the door.

"GNAUGHNAUGH!" Sirius shrieked, scrambling for a towel.

After a few minutes or so, in which an extremely petulant Sirius got dressed, Remus returned to his captive.

"Why must you always smell of wet dog?" Remus muttered, "Even when you shower you smell of dog."

"Fnarrgghhh." Sirius was becoming more articulate by the minute.

"You know, there's this little thing called sleep, and some of us enjoy it, especially when said people have to get up for classes the next day, and, you know, bursting in at three in the morning screaming 'MY EYES, MY EYES' is a sure way to make sure said people don't get to enjoy it." Remus glared at the quivering ball of Sirius on the floor. "Yes, Sirius. Do go on and apologize."

"Ahhgg. Feechahhhggkazick." Sirius buried his head in his knees, muttering in such a way that he managed to sound angry and frightened all at once.

"What was that?"

"Ahhgg! Feechahhggkazick!" Sirius grunted more forcefully.

"Ogg? Filch Ogg what sick?" Remus ventured a translation, "You ran into Filch and/or Ogg?"

"Bohff. Tageddar. ZICK." Sirius mumbled, his mouth full of knee.

Remus puzzled over this statement. He attempted, for a very brief, painful moment, to empathize with Sirius enough so as to understand what was causing such trauma. It almost caused _him_ trauma.

"What? Together? Like. . . ."

Sirius nodded.

"Oh, god. You've got to be kidding. But – Dumble – illegal – pedo – what!"

Sirius agreed mournfully, as if regretting the loss of innocence of his eyes.

"I think you need some chocolate. I think _I_ need some chocolate. Chocolate is the answer to everything."

---------------------------

The rest of the week passed without much incident, unless the daily rages of Sirius Black could be considered as incidents, which they couldn't, because they were carefully kept secret by Gryffindor Sixth Years, who felt it was their duty to prevent his expulsion. Sirius served his detentions dutifully, and contributed to the beating of only one First Year in the process. Happily, the Gryffindor Sixth Years managed to spirit the ill-fated Firstie away before word got out, and its disappearance was attributed to the Giant Squid, who was rather delighted to have such infamous publicity directed its way.

Despite the monotony of the school week, the Hogsmeade weekend proved to be a most remarkable experience.

"Ah. . . . Nice day," said Sirius. He looked nervously at the goblin, "Uh. . . ."

The goblin glared at him.

"Listen, er . . . ."

The goblin blew his nose menacingly.

". . .Can I have that? I mean, when you're done with it, of course, but I'd really like it soon, when you've blown your nose and everything," Sirius babbled.

"Do you not know what an insult it is to a goblin to ask for their snot!" The goblin frowned at him, eyes narrowed.

"Eep," squeaked Sirius, "I'm terribly sorry, I'm ignorant and just human and you know, ha, ha, human, and oh, my God, don't hurt me?"

The goblin grinned rather maliciously, and shouted something in Gobbledegook over his shoulder to his coworkers. They all burst into raucous laughter. Sirius froze, startled, and had begun to back away slowly, when something slimy and damp hit him in the chest. Looking down, he saw a very snotty tissue making its slow descent down his shirt.

"Oh! Thank you! I love you! I mean, not really, but, I am in debt to you and all your children and all your spawn and do you even have goblin women? Oh, but sorry, just asking, didn't mean to be rude, I'll go now," and Sirius disappeared, thankful to have emerged from this perilous encounter with his soul (and body) intact.

---------------------------

That evening, Sirius turned up in the Great Hall looking suspiciously dusty and sweaty, as if he had run a mile and a half after emerging from a rather shady apothecary in which no one ever swept the floor, which was, of course, not true at all.

The Gryffindor Sixth Years were a determined lot, and they hastily hushed up any and all rumors by attempting to set Lucius Malfoy's knickers on fire, only to find that he wore no knickers and instead went commando. This discovery was far more interesting than a suspicious Sirius Black, to the intense glee of Lucius Malfoy, who now had girls left, right, and center. Especially center.

Sirius escaped to the dormitories, where he deposited a dozen tiny eggs, a packet of funny-looking treacle, and a bottle of what seemed to be fur into a heavy oaken trunk. He rested his damp, sticky forehead against the cool wood in relief. Maybe Snape wouldn't make him get any more ingredients. . . . Maybe he would develop amnesia or die or explode or. . . .

Unfortunately for Sirius, no matter how hard he wished, none of these things would come to pass. When Monday rolled around, the ingredients were exchanged for another list, and Snape, far from being exploded or amnesic, was in an incorrigibly good mood.

That night, several burnt and singed armchairs were mourned for by the Gryffindor Sixth Years.

---------------------------

_To be retrieved by next Monday:_

_50 Acromantula Eggs, collected at the full moon._

---------------------------

Sirius swore at the toilet, filthy words, jinxes, hexes, curses pouring forth in a torrent from his mouth. Where the fuck would he find an acromantula? Where the fuck would a Ministry classified XXXXX, restricted, monitored, gigantic spider be? How the hell would he get its _eggs_!

In a rising fury, Sirius threw his bag at the unperturbed toilet. His bottle of ink burst, coloring the pristine toilet seat a dark purple while books flapped unhappily into the water.

"God! Fucking! Damnit!" Sirius cursed, scrambling to save his water-soluble wood pulp products. "Damnit, shit, fuck, bugger, fucking fuck fuck hell fuck. . . ."

Wincing, he flipped the first book out of the toilet. _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, it said, _Newt Scamander_.

"Oh god, oh god, I am an idiot," he said, "Acromantula, here I come."

---------------------------

Sometimes, James wondered why Sirius kept disappearing. Sometimes, he wondered why Sirius was in such a bad mood. Sometimes, he wondered why Snape was in such a good mood. And sometimes, he wondered why Lily Evans hated him.

He looked morosely at the syrup bottle he had transfigured. It looked strikingly similar to Lily, only Lily was generally found to be fully dressed and not nude.

_Thanks, Potter. Now I have definite proof you're a creep._

_Never yours,_

_Lily Evans._

---------------------------

Remus followed Madame Pomfrey out to the Whomping Willow, feeling irate and betrayed. The sun gleamed angrily over the Forbidden Forest, drenching the clouds in blood. Above it the dark blanket of night hovered, waiting to be pierced with the harsh, unforgiving light of the moon.

"I have to do something," Sirius had said, "I just . . . listen. It's really important. Er . . . . I can't explain it right now. But I will! I will! I promise. Just as soon as . . . ."

A low snarl erupted from his chest. Liar! He would be punished, banished from the pack, hurt, killed!

Madame Pomfrey looked at him, startled. "Hurry, dear, wouldn't want to be caught out."

Remus slipped inside the tree, feeling the haunting cry of the moon already grating at his joints.

---------------------------

The stag tossed his head impatiently. Below him a brown rat twitched, trembling. Together, they waited.

---------------------------

Lengthening fingernails clawed at the floor, cruel teeth were bared. The sound of bones grinding against each other, snapping, twisting, filled the room. Lips tore as they stretched to fit a warped jaw; ligaments ripped apart only to be mended and distorted into rawer, inhuman shapes. Red gashes screamed across distended skin, soon disguised by coarse fur that thrust itself past in bloody patches.

The beast raged, and above it the moon swung, bright, piercing, pitiless.

---------------------------

Sirius stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest, flailing madly at the branches that threatened to mar his beautiful, prized, godly, dead-sexy-prized-godly face. Unfortunately, such flailing proved to be worse than effective, upsetting his balance and causing him to trip over a large, dead log.

"Agh!" With an extremely ungraceful pirouette, Sirius tumbled into something rather sticky. Rather sticky and rather large. He groaned, and had begun to grope about in the gluey darkness for his wand when he felt something tickling his ankles. Venturing a glance southwards, he espied what appeared to be thick black fur swarming over his ankles.

_Wait,_ he thought vaguely, _Thick black fur? Not transforming, am I . . . and fur hasn't got . . . oh, fuck._

"AUGH, CRAWLIES!" he shrieked. For someone so receptive to the whims of spider-sippy-cup halfbreeds, Sirius was a bit distraught over the fact that his ankles were covered in small arachnids. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that the spiders were migrating quickly up his trouser legs and towards his. . . .

"AUGH, BITS!" he shrieked again. In an effort to maintain sanity, and some choice parts of his anatomy, Sirius began slapping frantically at his legs.

_Try to remain calm_, said the (very small) rational part of his brain, _Try to reason with them._ Not so rational, then.

"Hello. . . ." he began, speaking slowly, as one might speak to a very small child or someone who is very hard of hearing, "Could you. Perchance. Lead me to. Some eggs?"

The spiders persisted in their determined voyage bits-ward. Sirius cursed, attempting a rather complicated jig named the Gomg, Spiders up My Trou Dance in order to dislodge the creepy bits-attacking spiders. But Sirius never was a very good dancer, despite all claims to the contrary, and the spiders marched on past his knees unhindered.

"OHMYGOD," Sirius screamed, and with a small, almost inaudible _pop_, turned into a dog.

The spiders paused, confused. These were not bits! they proclaimed to each other angrily. Where had the bits-man gone?

The dog fled.

In the distance, a wolf howled.

---------------------------

The dog snuffled along the trees, scratching at the errant spider. The world blurred before him in a wash of grey, painted by all the delightful smells! of the forest, green smells, living smells, night smells. For him they arranged a clearer picture of the world than could any human sense, a picture with a path.

He ran, tongue lolling out his mouth towards the scents that so clearly spelled SPIDER across his brain.

Ran, ran, ran, and before him loomed a great gleaming sack – _wozzat?nottreenotanimalnotfoodbadsmelllikedeath_ – that glinted in the moonlight. It quivered gently, pulsing to the gentle heartbeat of the forest, to the conquest of blood and prey and death.

The dog nosed it cautiously. He pawed at it, tearing the spiderweb to expose the eggs below. He paused – _nohandswhatnow?_ – and carefully worked his jaw around a clump of eggs.

He felt them squirm in his mouth and shuddered.

There was a snapping noise behind him. SPIDER, his senses screamed, RUN.

Ran, ran, ran, but the spider was too large, too fast, too strong. It barreled into him, smashing his body against a tremendous oak. His jaws snapped together in pain, crushing the eggs, releasing into his mouth dozens of scurrying, crawling, half-formed _things_ that fought to escape, crawling down his throat, biting his tongue, crawling, crawling.

A whimper of pain escaped him, and the spider flipped him over with its forelegs, stinger jabbing towards his body.

He tore himself from the grip of the beast and ran, ran, ran, feeling the swarming spiders smash to pulp beneath his paws, feeling the unformed spiders grate between his teeth and coat his tongue with spider guts, feeling the pursuit of the giant arachnid behind him.

Ran, ran, ran, away from death and blackmail and unhappiness and unrequited love.

---------------------------

Sirius sat beside Remus' bed, forlorn, despondent. He felt like he'd betrayed his best friend, and, in a way, he had. He had never missed a full moon, not since the time Kingsley Shacklebolt broke his nose because he'd accidentally kicked him in the crotch while doing gymnastics.

He gave a great mournful _whooof_ of air. Remus' fringe fluttered across his face, settling slightly askew. It was almost endearing, except for the fact that one of the hairs had almost flown into his nostril and instead settled right across his upper lip, giving the appearance of an exceptionally idiotic mustachio.

Sirius giggled. Remus looked ridiculous and not at all like a proper Moony. He looked older, more laughable, and far too much like a professor. Somehow, the idea was both hilarious and unsettling. The thought jolted in his stomach and a small crease marred his forehead. His fingers itched to flick it off and make things seem right again. . . . He didn't want Moony to change, didn't want him to grow up, didn't want _any_ of them to grow up. He wanted to stay in Neverland forever, because life was too complicated and too harsh, and the very thought of ever growing old, ever having to live in the grown-up world, ever having to leave Hogwarts behind forever, well, it was enough to make anyone a little fidgety.

So Sirius fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs, wiggling his toes, unable to stay still or get comfortable. He felt he should do something; calisthenics, jumping jacks, a few quick laps around the room, anything.

It seemed that this nervous energy transferred itself spontaneously to Remus, who mumbled faintly and opened his eyes.

He seemed mildly startled to find Sirius' face not a few inches from his own, but managed to conjure up a cheery, albeit croaky, "Hallo."

"Er . . . why are you two centimeters from my face?" Remus asked.

Sirius had large, somewhat girly eyes, he noticed; the sort that make-up companies used on their bottles of mascara.

The make-up bottle eyes blinked at him ferociously for a few seconds. Remus rather hoped he hadn't said all of that out loud.

"Well," Remus said, uncomfortably, "erm, I'll just move . . . away. Ish."

"Oh. Er. Sorry. Um . . . I didn't mean . . . um," Sirius sat back quickly and continued to mumble nonsense syllables. "Um . . . er – I . . . AUGHILOVEYOU!"

There was a sudden explosion of movement, and Remus, to his utter bewilderment, found himself confronted with a rather startling amount of Sirius Mouth attached to his lips.

---------------------------

End Note: Ogg/Filch. Because you know it's true.

Now, review! Review! Or we'll force more of it upon you!


	4. Self Help

Authors' Note: We SERIOUSLY APOLOGISE A LOT that it has taken us four months to produce another chapter. School is mean! Please don't hate us!

In this chapter we proudly (and tardily) present brightly colored self-help books, a good deal of nudity, and a collection of highly important notes. Also mentioned are exploding toilets, the intoxicating effects of minors drinking alcohol, and highly disturbing habits of several professors and/or librarians, and/or nurseladies.

Disclaimer: We do solemnly swear to sell the following work based upon the intellectual property of one J.K. Rowling for profit and fame and glory and boywhores.

IMPORTANT NOTE: Due to severely BITCHY FORMATTING BITCH, we have been unable to strikethrough words. We have compromised, and would like you to take note that all underlined passages are meant to be conveyed as strikethroughs.

---------------------------

_Oh, my god_, Remus thought in shock. _He is going to suffocate and I am going to DIE and oh, my god, he's KISSING ME_, and, with that last, abrupt thought, he fell off the bed.

"AUGH," he yelped. His legs flailed helplessly above his head and to his utmost horror, one of them hit a bright pink Sirius Black in the face.

"Oh, my god, I'm sorry!" A little corner in his mind registered that he had either said or thought the phrase 'oh, my god' three times in the past _ten seconds_, was he going mad? and there was a loud THUMP as the rest of his body joined his torso on the floor.

There was an astonishing thump somewhere above him and far to the right, except this thump was more of a Sirius smashing into the door in his hurry to run away thump.

Outside there was a flurry of voices.

"Hey Pads, what's wrong– whoa– what–"

"ARRGH–"

"Oww, watch that, mate, what the –"

"He bit me!"

Remus lay on the floor, wondering at his ability to distinguish thumps from thumps and if he was only a little bit insane or perhaps hallucinating.

---------------------------

Sirius was hiding in his favorite bathroom stall, the one by the suits of armor on the twelfth floor, the one that no one ever used because of that leaky faucet that occasionally emitted such haunting maxims as, "You've a cottage cheese arse!" and "Leopard-spotted thongs. I can see your spotted thongs!" Sirius never minded, mostly because he had a very nice arse, and the only thongs he had ever worn were those invisibility ones that Remus confiscated a while back.

"Fartface!" shouted the faucet. Sirius felt a hysterical giggle bubble up inside of him – it was so funny, so fucking funny, everything was a goddamned riot. . . .

The toilet seat exploded, sending shards of porcelain clattering into the walls.

"Fuck!" he swore, finding bits of toilet embedded in his arms. "Damnit, shit, fucking _toilet_. . . !"

He stumbled out of the stall, cursing toilets and their combustive properties, only to run into an extremely startled Severus Snape, who seemed to be gaping at the leaky sink in disbelief.

"It – it called me a fartface!" Snape started, looked about, found it was that damned Sirius Black who was standing behind him, and quickly composed his countenance into something less fartface and more oh-it's-_you_-additive-evil-sneer.

Sirius Black, on the other hand, stopped cursing, saw that it was that fucking Severus Snape, and froze with horror, allowing his own countenance to assume the face of a cadaver. An extremely unhappy cadaver.

"Black," Snape spat, "I trust that you have my ingredients? The full moon was last night, you know."

Sirius gathered himself together, and with all the finesse of an aristocrat – his mother would be so proud – said, "Fuck."

Snape raised a greasy eyebrow. "What was that, Black?"

"I said," Sirius snarled, pulling himself together, "fuck you. I haven't got your fucking eggs and you shouldn't fucking expect them, either. Fuck off; I'm not going to fucking get any more shit for your fucking twisted experiments, no matter what you fucking try to do, so _fuck you, you sleazy bastard_."

Snape turned white, lips pressed in a thin line. "And," he shot, "have you forgotten about your darling Remus Lupin?"

Sirius sneered, "No one would believe you anyways. You're a fucking liar, Snivelly."

"And," Snape smiled evilly, "what if I were to tell Lupin himself?"

Sirius stopped dead. Snape smiled thinly.

"I'll expect them next month, then. Throw in some –"

"You know what, Snape? Remus already knows. He knows, and he's okay with it. So fuck you; you haven't got anything against me at all." He grabbed his bag, and shot over his shoulder, "Maybe you shouldn't be so occupied with your flatulence as your grease, slimeball."

He marched out of the bathroom, with all the triumphant trumpets of the world playing Ode to Joy in his head.

---------------------------

Remus lay on the floor, face burning crimson, while James and Peter gaped at him.

"Remus," Peter whispered, "what are you doing down there?"

"I . . . fell." Oh god, thought Remus, I sound like an abused child now.

"And Sirius just left you there?" James said with an air of incredulity.

"I think he had to take a piss . . . ." Remus' mind was racing, quickly trying to come up with excuses for his predicament. He had never been any good at lying.

"He's been spending an awful lot of time in the loo recently. Do you think he has a disease?" It was a good thing Peter was bollocks at discerning lies from truth. A proper Sherlock Holmes, really.

James scratched his chin. He didn't look like he believed what Remus was saying in the least, but went along with it anyways, "Yes, I'm sure he does. Probably terrifically contagious, painful, all that."

Remus picked himself up, groaning. Stupid moon. Stupid joints. Stupid Sirius.

---------------------------

Sirius' sudden change in behavior was noted and commented on. Sporadic outbursts of singing in the common room, dry humping of random objects, dancing upon the tables, and other such exuberant behavior made it hard not to be noted. But only a few noticed that Remus and Sirius seemed to be avoiding each other, and that any sort of direct confrontation between them was painfully awkward.

James was one of the few. Peter, however, was not.

"What?" Peter asked, "You mean, they've been awkward at each other?"

"If one could awkward at something, then they would," James concurred.

"Wow, I haven't noticed. But then again, Sirius seems to be red an awful lot. And he doesn't go around nude anymore. I thought that was a good thing." Peter pondered for a second. "You know, I really think it was that crusty toast. Everything was fine until we got that crusty toast."

"Peter," James said patiently, "toast is supposed to be crusty."

"BUT NOT THAT CRUSTY!" Peter insisted. In his mind, all evil was rooted in crusty toast. Crusts were bad, evil, and they were out to take over the world, starting with innocent loaves of bread. Shame, really. He liked bread.

James sighed. "That's not the point. Point is we need to find out why Sirius and Moony are being awkward at each other."

---------------------------

The pumpkins towered over the breakfasters. Ghoulish specters hovered over the tables, occasionally emitting strange mooing noises, reminiscent of exceptionally transparent cows. Sirius reached up to tug at one.

"Sir," he said, head tilted up, "Sir, why do you moo so?"

Peter giggled, and James elbowed him in the ribs.

"S'not polite to laugh at dead people. Offensive, really."

Sirius glared at them both. He waved his hand at – through – the specter insistently. "Sir?"

"Moooo," it sighed, turning vacant eyes towards the inquiring Sirius, "mooooo." In a tired sort of way, it brought its hand down to Sirius' face, holding a finger in front of his eyes, "MooooOOOO," and it patted his unkempt head mournfully.

James and Peter gaped as the specter floated off, leaving a behind a thoroughly excited Sirius Black.

"Did you –!" he flailed, "And it –!"

Kingsley Shacklebolt frowned at Sirius over his woman-syrup covered pancakes.

"I mean . . . er," Sirius faltered, "SorrysirIwilljustreturntomyfoodandstopharrassingghosts."

Kingsley nodded curtly and continued to eat his food in a manner that suggested it had severely displeased him.

---------------------------

Due to the general air of mad excitement that surrounded Halloween, classes were not productive. At least, they were not productive in the sense that students actually learned something.

"And then," Sirius paused, "IT SMASHES HIM."

James applauded, ignoring Professor Flitwick's imploring looks.

"Brilliant, Padfoot, brilliant." James swung an encouraging arm over his shoulders. "Escape plan?"

"Oh, well, if we're using the fourth floor corridor we can duck out through that fake wall, right, Moon – erm, Peter?"

Peter looked around uncertainly, "Me?" he asked, surprised, "Shouldn't you be asking Remus?"

Sirius blinked ferociously at him and said very loudly, "NO."

Remus' ears turned bright red behind his book.

James noted the exchange with some interest. Peter, with all the tact of a herd of elephants, plowed on.

"But you always ask Remus! Ask Remus. I don't know about the fourth floor, I was in the hospital wing when we did that."

Yes, go on, James added silently, ask him.

Sirius opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like an extremely hairy fish. Remus, ears still a lovely shade of crimson, mumbled something about bathrooms and fled, eyes downcast. Professor Flitwick grumbled.

James stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wished he had a beard, but alas! Growing facial hair was not among James Potter's many talents.

Peter looked at him. "Is your chin itchy or something? Mum sent me anti-itching cream last week, you can have some if you want."

"Erm, no," James hastily stopped stroking his chin and put both hands on the table. "Er, anyways, like I was saying –"

"You weren't saying anything at all, you berk," Sirius prodded his ribs with an extremely sharp finger, "unless you meant the bit about me being a genius and all because if you did, you may continue, addendum, so on and so forth, etcetera, ad nauseum and the like."

"Berk, yourself. Anyways I think we should –"

The Marauders sank into a heated discussion about the differences of woman-syrup and pitcher-syrup, and no one seemed to notice Sirius' anxiety.

---------------------------

Remus Lupin was sitting on a toilet of high caliber – that is, he was sitting on a toilet of the Prefect's bathroom. He had a book in his hands, but he wasn't actually reading it, which was unusual. Nor were his digestive organs being used, which was also unusual. In fact, Remus Lupin seemed to be doing absolutely nothing at all, besides sitting on the toilet.

Unusual, that.

He was wondering if it were unusual to be snogged by a very masculine best friend of the same age and living quarters. He wondered what the usual action of persons snogged by very masculine best friends was, and he wondered if it were not so unusual to wonder about wondering about things that made one wonder.

He asked himself, what he, Remus Lupin, would do in such a situation, and decided that Remus Lupin would go to the library.

_What about classes?_ a little voice whispered, _Shouldn't you at least go back and make up an excuse for leaving?_

Oh, bugger that. It was Halloween, not like anyone was going to notice anyways.

He arrived at the library slightly breathless and a little sweaty. Madame Pince inspected him warily. Remus Lupin was a Good Boy, she thought. He put the books in the right places without being asked, a very Good Boy. She waved him on.

Slightly embarrassed, he rushed to the furthest side of the library. He wandered the shelves, doubting that they even kept books of the counseling sort in the library. Especially counseling books of _that_ sort.

To his immense surprise, there were indeed books of the counseling sort, and even books of _that_ counseling sort. Located in a depressingly obscure corner of the library, the dusty shelf labeled Self-Help was crammed full of brightly colored books with titles like _Addicted to Gillyweed_, and _How to Ask for Help_, and, he shuddered, for this book seemed rather. . . well-loved, _Older Lovers in your Profession – Love, Lust, or Quid Pro Quo?_

Ears burning in ignominy, he hurriedly flipped out several books that seemed to be of use, and several others from the surrounding shelves to hide them. He sat at a lonely looking carrel and prayed no one would see him. He gingerly turned the first book over.

_Homosexual and Happy_, it said cheerfully. The cover bore a pair of male wizards holding hands and smiling. Their teeth were blinding – Remus never knew such a white shade of white, and he wondered what sort of toothpaste they used.

He turned to the table of contents and nearly choked. _Gay Sex – Two Penises are Better than One!_ it proclaimed happily. Remus quickly shoved it away.

_Boarding School Gays_, said the next, _Magic and Learning of the Other Sort_.

"Erk," Remus said.

---------------------------

Remus approached the front, head down and blushing. Madame Pince glared down at him, stamp and wand in hand.

"Th-these books, please," he whispered, holding out his well-chosen items. He had considered transfiguring them but decided that to do so was blasphemy, and besides, they probably had some sort of anti-transfiguration sensor.

Madam Pince's sharp voice cut through his embarrassment-muddled brain. "Your books, _if you would_."

He turned a lovely shade of magenta and handed her the books.

"Ah!" Madame Pince exclaimed, in quite different tones than one was accustomed to hearing from her, "I thought so! Excellent choice, Mr. Lupin, most excellent!"

"What?"

"Poppy and I were just putting up bets, and you, Mr. Lupin, have won me lunch!"

Bewildered, Remus stammered out, "I'm sorry, I don't. . . ?"

"Such pretty little boys. . . ."

"_What_?"

Madame Pince sighed blissfully and stamped the books.

"I – I really don't understand what. . . ."

"Why, you, of course! Oh, my, you'd be surprised at how many pretty gay boys –" here she emitted a little squeal of rapture – "And you wouldn't believe how many of them come to the library to –" and sighed, eyes glazed over –"Although," she whispered confidentially and a little enviously," Muffy always gets the best ones, Astronomy Tower and all."

Remus gaped at her in horror.

"Now," she strode out from behind her desk and handed an astonished Remus his books, "if you ever want to come to tea with us, feel free. But be sure to bring your boyfriend, we always enjoy the sight of young lovers." Beaming, she shooed him out of the library.

---------------------------

Fortunato and Montresor peered from behind the corner.

"You know," Fortunato said, in a voice that sounded uncannily like James', "I don't even know who this Fortunato fellow is."

"Shh!" hissed Montresor agitatedly, "herehecomesherehecomes!"

A sour-faced Snape stomped down the hallway, in the guise of a vampire.

"Didn't put much effort into his costume, did he?" Montresor hissed.

Fortunato snorted.

"Shhh. Go!"

Fortunato cupped a hand around his mouth, "Caw. Caw. Caw caw caw caw caw!"

Snape whirled around, horrified, "Oh, shit."

"Caw! Caw! CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!" Montresor joined in.

Snape whipped his head wildly from side to side, eyes wide in horror.

"CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW CAW!"

"Oh fuck. Where are they? Where are they!" Snape was wild with fear.

Fortunado and Montresor flapped their cloaks, increasing the volume of their caws.

"CAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAWCAW!"

Snape shrieked and tore off down the hall, cloak flapping behind him.

Cackling, Montresor and Fortunato swooped off.

"Victory for the Marauders!" Montresor shouted, shovel in hand. James ducked.

"Watch that, mate. Can't go killing Fortunato, bad karma and all."

"But Jamsie-poo, I'm supposed to kill Fortunato! S'wot this shovel's for." He brandished it fiercely. "You insulted me, so I had to bury you in my family vault."

"Wonky movie, that."

"It's not a movie. It's a story by some stoned dude who hallucinated all the time."

"Hey, you actually read something of your own free will? Amazing, that."

Sirius opened his mouth to say that it was actually Moony who put him to it, clever Moony, but decided to clamp his lips together very tightly and not say anything at all.

POP, went his lips.

"Eh? Eh? What was that?"

"Er, sorry, burped. Hey, look, it's that statue I was telling you about, the one that gropes everyone."

"Oh man, do you think it could wank people off?"

A loud cough interrupted them.

"Misters Black and Potter, I presume?" came Professor McGonagall's voice from behind them, and they turned around, horror-stricken, "The feast will begin shortly. I advise you to accompany me to the Great Hall to prevent any further – ah – speculation on the properties of this statue, interesting as it may be." She surveyed them sternly over the tops of her spectacles. "Come."

Chagrined, Fortunato and Montresor followed her.

The feast was a mad revel of costumed students, dancing and screaming and laughing. Dumbledore, as serene and Dumbledore-ish as ever, presided over the carousing with a slight smile. Some of the more festive teachers had taken the time to dress up – Professor Flitwick, unmistakably short as he was, had dressed as a very small, minute, even miniscule, whale, and Professor Slughorn was an extremely rotund Merlin.

"Look at Slughorn!" Sirius poked James.

"Look at _Lily_," James sighed, clinging to Sirius' arm. Lily made an extremely fetching pirate, he decided. He would have to retransfigure the woman-syrup at once.

"Eww," Sirius said. "That's gross, Potter; don't even think about that syrup bottle, I know you are."

"What!" James said indignantly, "I was not!"

"You were," Peter appeared, suddenly, "I could tell, too."

"Whoa, where'd you come from?"

"House elves gave me food and sent me up here. Didn't know there was a costume party, so they gave me this." He nodded at himself. James and Sirius blinked. Peter looked . . . strangely adorable. More adorable than any Peter of any place should look.

He was dressed as an extremely cute snowman, outfitted with the apropos scarf and coal buttons. He had painted his face white, and was wearing a hat in Gryffindor colours. A carrot had even been transfixed to his nose, presumably by a sticking charm, though the integrity of the charm was highly suspect as the carrot wobbled precariously whenever he moved his head.

They gaped.

"Wow. . . . Peter, matey, you look . . . _cute_."

Peter looked askance at them, "Cute?"

"Yeah. . . . Cute." Sirius said, rather confusedly.

"Oh, my gosh, Peter!" A pirate Lily appeared, looking thoroughly pleased with the snowman Peter she had discovered. "That is such a brilliant outfit! You look really cute in it!"

James goggled.

"Oh. . . er, thanks." Peter blushed, "The house elves helped me."

"Aww, that's so _adorable_. Hey, Peter, would you like to meet some of my friends?"

"Um. . . okay." Beaming, Lily took Peter by the hand – James made a noise as if he were choking – and led him away.

Sirius snickered, seeing the expression on James' face. "Oh, Jamsie-poo. We should be glad for Peter. Maybe he can hook you up with some girls."

James looked as if he had died a little inside. Sirius grinned, and grabbed one of his hands. "Would you," he said in a deep, sultry baritone, "give me the honor of this dance?"

Beside them, a girl shrieked in joy. "Oh, my god, they're going to dance, look, look!"

This seemed to snap James out of his depression. Winking at the sudden crowd of shrieking girls, he pressed Sirius' hand to his lips. "But of course."

---------------------------

"Hey," James said, "Where's Moony?"

Sirius, who had been really, really, really trying hard not to look for, or even think about, Remus shook his head in disagreement vigorously. Peter, still amazingly cute, shrugged.

"I saw him on my way back from the house elves. I think he might've gone off to the dormitories."

"Right, then, let's go fetch him." James made determined motions towards the doors. Sirius protested, pulling back at James' arms.

"What if he's . . . he's. . ." Sirius attempted to think of things people did in private, "wanking?"

James scoffed, "Remus never wanks. He is completely asexual. I bet on an asexual scale of one to ten, Remus is twenty-five and a half."

Peter giggled, and Sirius flushed. The thought was simultaneously comforting and disconcerting – it wasn't his fault that Moony didn't like him but then he couldn't snog –

Sirius shook his head frantically and persisted.

"Prongs," he whined, "leave Remus alone. He doesn't have to come if he doesn't want to."

James turned to Sirius, aghast. "What? What? Is this _Sirius Black_ I hear, championing the _individual rights_ of a _Marauder_?"

"Er. . . no?" Sirius looked about him, shifty-eyed. "Er. . . oh, hello, Lily!"

James whipped around, Remus and the Rights of Marauders Everywhere forgotten. Sirius took the chance to stick ice cubes down James' Fortunato robes and scurried away.

---------------------------

Sometime near midnight, the party migrated to Gryffindor tower, headed by Sirius and making a great deal of noise as roughly fifty percent of the school's population tumbled drunkenly through the portrait hole. The crashing and revelry thoroughly startled one Remus Lupin, who was at the time convalescing in an overstuffed chair with a copy of _Gay: It's Okay!_

Upon seeing the whirlwind of bodies tumble through the portrait hole, Remus threw himself to his feet, arms windmilling madly as he stuffed the book into his jumper. Sirius was the first to notice him.

". . . MoooooOOOooony?" Sirius crossed his eyes and stumbled a few steps across the common room. Never could hold his (five or so bottles of) Firewhiskey, that one.

Remus thought quickly. "Er, no. 'Fraid not. Must be off! Ta!" and scurried up the stairs.

Sirius, eyes uncrossed, goggled unsteadly at the retreating figure. "Mmpphm. Could'a sworn wassh . . . " An idea struck him with the sudden force of a Beater's bat.

Someone else had dragged into the common room a large magical record player, procured from dubious sources, and was currently playing it full volume.

"DANSH!" cried Sirius exuberantly, "DANSH!" He made a running leap onto the nearest table, and immediately began to dance, arms and legs flailing wildly. His vision swayed with his limbs, thoughts fuzzy with the heady scent of alcohol. James, he thought, James will dance. A flailing arm reached off the table and hauled James up.

And they danced. Erratic, drunken tangoes, waltzes, flamencos and foxtrots.

Naked, Sirius' brain spoke again, naked is a good place to be. His body agreed. Shirt, tie, socks, pants, trousers, were thrown to the ground, not necessarily in that order. It felt liberating, all this rampant nudity. I must do this again, he thought.

---------------------------

It was nearly three A.M. when Sirius staggered into the dorm, muttering something under his breath about pickled specimens and Merlin's bogeys and all manner of other disgusting things. Still gloriously nude, he stumbled across the floor towards his bed. However, an errant sock stood in the way of his conquest. He tripped, crashing through the hangings of the nearest bed and onto something rather bony.

"The hell --?" Remus sat up, bleary eyed, "Oh. Hallo."

Sirius was about three centimetres from his face. "Llooo. Wossha dween hee a shuch a taime?" His words were slurred, rolling off his tongue and dropping heavily into the air between them. Sirius leaned forward inquiringly. Their noses brushed.

Remus' heart began to beat at an astonishing pace. His eyes widened, pupils dilating. "Pardon?" he muttered.

Sirius leaned even closer in, their mouths nearly touching. Remus leaned his head back slightly. _Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. _The books hadn't mentioned anything about these sorts of situations. It appeared he had not yet reached the _What To Do When Your Drunken Best Mate Is Trying To Impale Your Face With His Nose_ chapter.

"Wulllllll," drawled Sirius, drawing out the syllable as long as possible, "Wullllllll--" and he toppled gracefully off the bed.

Remus pulled the covers over his head, simultaneously pondering how someone so drunk could still be graceful and praying that Sirius wouldn't remember this in the morning.

---------------------------

"WEIRD, THOSE AMERICAN BLOKES," Sirius proclaimed, bouncing on James and his bed. He prodded a very hung over James. "UP," he said, boinging a little.

"Ngg. . . ." James groaned, throwing an arm over his head, "Go bother Moony or something. Head hurts. Don't wanna go to class."

"Up, up, up. . . ."

"WHY IS IT that you are NEVER hung over. EVER." James flung himself on his face, wincing.

"Guess what, guess what, those colonist blokes over in America, and they colonized, and they, they, came across this bloke and he was chief of some people, and his name was Wahunsonacock."

"Wha-who's on a cock?" James immediately perked up.

"Wahun. Wahun is on a cock." Sirius looked immensely pleased with himself.

"Wow. And this guy was chief of these American colonist blokes?"

"Er, yeah! yeah! That's it."

"And he was on a cock and they made him chief anyways?"

"YES."

"Oh, matey, those American colonist blokes. Cock." James shook his head, pain forgotten.

"Penis," Sirius countered, propping himself up on James' chest with his elbows. "Penis penis penis."

"Dick."

"Vagiiiinaaa. . . ." Sirius grinned, baring his teeth. "I win, James Potter, so there."

"Bugger off, Pads. You and your damned table dancing." James stuffed a pillow over his face.

"Admit it, you know you liked it."

"Urgh. Never. 'Pickled specimen'? Disgusting. You, my friend, are the worst exhibitionist I have ever met."

"Mmm. And I have never been hung over."

"Bastard. Your elbows are too pointy. Off. Now."

---------------------------

Professor Binns' monotone voice droned on, something about the diplomatic affairs of pygmies or somesuch nonsense. Personally, Sirius felt they were all reincarnations of the devil. What other demented, twisted creatures would write an entire 4392 pages on jungle land contracts?

Remus was scribbling something on a neatly torn piece of paper. Sirius looked at it apprehensively.

The ominous bit of paper wended its way to Sirius, who, although glad for the respite, was not entirely willing to accept it from a potentially embarrassing note.

---------------------------

_Messr. Padfoot –_

_We ought to deal with this. . . incident thing like responsible adults, oughtn't we? Or at least with some semblance of responsibility._

_I think what I am trying to say is we need to talk (as soon as is feasible). Madame Pince is starting to scare me._

– _Messr. Moony_

---------------------------

Sirius' quill waved frenetically as he wrote, crossed out, wrote again. He crumpled up his torn paper and hurled it at a mildly surprised Remus.

---------------------------

_BUT I AM NOT_

_A R I DON'T WANT_

_NO_

_Er. I. Can't talk. Throat died and all. Was eating toast, etc. No talking for me._

_Besides, nothing happened_

---------------------------

Neatly folded, Remus' reply was handed across the aisle.

---------------------------

_Agh_

_Well, you can still write, can't you?_

_And something certainly_ did _happen, I've still got a bruise on my arse._

_So. . . write. (Explain yourself and all that rot.)_

---------------------------

Sirius bit at his lip.

---------------------------

_IT WAS THE TOAST DAMNIT_

---------------------------

Remus snorted.

---------------------------

_Toast is supposed to be crusty! Honestly, it's like talking to Peter or something._

_Stop being avoidant._

---------------------------

Sirius stared at the note, unmoving. His quill trembled. Then, timorously:

---------------------------

_NOT BEING AVOIDANT, YOU GIT_

_anyways your crossy-outy things suck._

_Peter's a weird pleasant bloke._

_Er about The Thing I just wanted to felt it just happened and I guess you were conveniently at hand, dormitory and all and anyways I don't know it just did and er sorry mate I really don't know._

---------------------------

Remus looked at it thoughtfully.

---------------------------

_You were so being avoidant _–_ That is not the point._

_Also, my "crossy-outy" things are excellent._

_Anyways, dormitory and proximity and convenience (oh, grammar, why have you forsaken me?) and that sort of thing is a very good explanation._

_because I'm not because so_

_Peter is a very weird pleasant bloke indeed._

---------------------------

Sirius' tongue poked out a bit as he ripped the paper for his next note. He turned the paper periodically, following its odd curves.

---------------------------

_observe my mad paper-tearing skills! anyways I am glad we got that sorted out, let's not talk of this again._

In the center of his peculiarly formed oblong:

_RAWR like a caterpillar_

A corner was occupied by a sort of space alien, all tentacles and belly.

Remus' note seemed to take a while to write.

---------------------------

_Yes, that's a very good idea, probably. After all, there's no reason to talk about it, is here? Perfectly logical thing to have happen, considering the circumstances. I mean, dormitories and everything . . . if you put people in the same room for long enough, that sort of thing is bound to happen. I bet it happens all the time, really. It's probably perfectly normal. If you asked around (which you shouldn't and which is something I do not encourage) you'd probably find it's not abnormal, common even (no, really, don't go asking around. I can hear you thinking. It would only bring up unnecessary questions. Really. Don't!). But I digress. Perfectly normal, bound to happen to someone somewhere, etc. etc._

_Glad everything's back to normal._

– _Moony _

---------------------------

Sirius blinked at the note, cross-eyed.

---------------------------

_WELL I WASN'T GOING TO ASK well maybe just a few people._

_ME TOO so are we okay mates and all again?_

---------------------------

Remus smiled a bit.

---------------------------

_If you do, you might find every pair of your socks missing. (Though you probably wouldn't mind the constantly sweaty feet; your personal hygiene is appalling.)_

_And yeah, I think we are._

_Additionally, you should note the shape of this note. It is almost a perfect square. Admire it._

---------------------------

Sirius looked up, and, while Remus watched in abject horror, systematically tore the corners off.

---------------------------

"Jamsie-poo, wake up, wake up, up, up," Sirius sang in James' ear, grabbing a handful of messy black hair. "Oooh, Jamsie-poo!"

Professor Binns floated by, looking at them disapprovingly.

James groaned, mumbling something about syrup. Sirius shoved his tongue in James' ear. He squawked, still half-asleep, as their fellow peers looked on.

"Sticking your tongue in other people's ears isn't very conducive to well being," Remus said, "Especially James', I don't think he ever washes them."

Sirius grinned broadly, exuberantly, madly, and flung his arm around Remus' shoulders. "My dear Moony, Moony, Moony, I bathe his ears with my saliva. They are the cleanest ears to have ever lived."

"I would imagine so, seeing as your toothbrush is practically molding from disuse."

"Gnnn . . . ng," James said.

Peter shuffled up from his seat, having packed his bag.

"Peter! My lovely Wormtail!" Sirius semi-tackled him in joy, knocking him over James.

"AUGH," James shrieked, jumping up.

"Good work, Peter old man, you woke him up! Let's go, hup, one two three, fifty one, hup! Hup!" He thrust his arms through Peter's and Remus' and dragged them off to lunch.

James, rubbing at his curiously damp ears, followed at a respectable distance. Certainly a new development in the Remus/Sirius case, he thought to himself, humming a detective theme.

James Potter: Private Eye.

Ought to have started carrying a notebook. And gotten one of those funny detective hats. Those things were ace. And a dame! Every good detective needed a dame. . . . James pulled the syrup bottle out of his robes and eyed it speculatively (and a little pervertedly). He wondered if he could get a little detective movie style dress for it.

_Her, corrected the other side of his brain. She's a her._

Speaking of her, Lily knew how to knit, maybe she could knit a dress for it.

_Her._

He entered the Great Hall, still humming the detective tune under his breath. Sirius appeared to be levitating sausages in an odd sort of dance, his arm over Remus' shoulders. Remus was laughing, while Peter, taking advantage of the spectacle, was unsubtly stealing lettuce from Remus' plate.

Peter was the first one to notice James' arrival.

"Lo, mate!" Peter waved frantically, something brown and slightly soggy flopping about in his hand.

"Look," he said as James took his seat, "the toast isn't crusty any more." He shoved the limp brown lump into James' hands.

"We dumped pumpkin juice on it, but don't tell him that. Anyways, what sort of bloke eats toast for lunch?" Sirius whispered covertly, sending the dancing sausages hurtling across to the Slytherin table, which erupted in squeals and shrieks as Bellatrix found her face splattered with a volley of kamikaze sausages.

"I'm going to fucking kill you!" Bellatrix shouted, leaping to her feet.

"Run, Sirius, run!" Remus shoved Sirius under the table, laughing hysterically.

Peter giggled happily and prodded his toast lump, watching it jiggle.

James looked at Peter's jiggling toast lump, Bellatrix's sausage-covered face, Sirius' manic grin, Remus' helpless laughter, and McGonagall's impending face of Doom.

Good Gog, he thought, _I_ want to throw sausages at Bellatrix.

---------------------------

End Note: Now, go forth and review! (Because you know the nurseladies would approve.)


	5. His Toothpaste and Your Dependency

Author's Note: We are terribly, terribly, terribly sorry that it has taken us now over five months to produce anything. We really have been working hard (or hardly working, heh). We do hope, however, that you appreciate our humble offering, as it has taken us this much time for (hopefully) a good reason.

If you're still reading this, you're probably insane. Nevertheless, we salute you and your admirable perseverance and all your other fine qualities and hope you do not hate us to death. We certainly don't hate you. Especially after 56 reviews. You all are bloody amazing.

---------------------------

Severus Snape pinched the bridge of his nose between sallow fingers, glaring at the parchment before him. To the casual observer, it would have appeared he was working very hard on a relatively simple Arithmancy problem. The casual observer, however, was an idiot. Snape was indeed working very hard, but the subject of his musings was far removed from Arithmancy.

_YOU WANT TO SEE A GODDAMNED FURRY LITTLE PROBLEM SO FUCKING BAD, WHY DON'T YOU GO AND FUCK THE WHOMPING WILLOW._

Black's angry voice ricocheted behind his eyelids; words wended their way through his ears. There was something more to that statement, Snape thought, there had to be. He pondered, sifting through the images, brooding, and suddenly, he remembered: Lupin lying prostrate on a hospital bed, pale, weak . . . covered in long, lateral scratches.

And everything fell together like tumblers meeting key.

Furry little problem. Lupin's constant absences, odd scars, periodically regular illnesses, illnesses that fell every twenty-eight days, every full cycle of the moon. The moon. Lupin was a _werewolf_.

Snape exhaled slowly. But Dumbledore would never put his student's lives at risk in such a careless manner by allowing dangerous halfbreeds to roam the campus without regulation.

Yet everything pointed irrevocably to the same conclusion. Snape wrinkled his brow.

In the depths of his machinating mind, something stirred, something evil, diabolical, something horrifyingly despicable and loathsome and cruel. A slow, greasy smile crossed his face. Lupin. And where a Lupin, there was a Black.

This would be the perfect opportunity to revenge himself on Black. His little faggoty crush expelled for being a danger to humanity. Their gay little friendship torn asunder like so many rags. And he, Severus Snape, would be championed as a hero to the school for exposing such a horrible, irresponsible danger to the students; parents would hail him as the honorable whistle-blower upon the silly school administration.

Snape grinned broadly. He could practically see the Order of Merlin, Second – no, First Class writing itself in his mind. Now all he had to do was find some proof. . . .

But. Something nagged. What did the Whomping Willow have to do with it?

Whomping Willow . . . clearly it had something to do with Lupin's despicable affliction. A cure? No; such a discovery would be harked in the papers. Perhaps a hiding place, maybe, or a containment chamber? Surely they wouldn't keep a werewolf in the hospital wing. Perhaps. He would see.

_Oh, to blackmail Black!_

At his desk, Professor Vector pushed his glasses further up his nose and stared curiously at the black haired boy at the back of the room. Severus Snape had always been such a bright boy, one of the most intelligent in his year, just behind James Potter and Sirius Black. But for all his intelligence, he mused, he'd never seen him smile. Looking a little closer, seeing the slightly maniacal glint behind those hooded eyes, he decided he didn't like it at all.

---------------------------

One hour until the full moon. One hour before unimaginable agony – Remus thought it was funny, the way he experienced this every month, yet still couldn't understand exactly what happened as he transformed – one hour until another mad adventure into the forest. One hour.

He didn't like to bring books with him – what if he accidentally stepped on one? or God forbid, bit one? – and his wand was always taken away from him (just in case), and so in the one hour between the door shutting and locking behind Madame Pomfrey's bustling skirts and the searing anguish the moon brought, he usually thought about things, or spells, or magic, or occurrences that happened to sixth year Gryffindor boys like himself.

He thought about how yesterday Sirius turned James' eyebrows into caterpillars that fell into a puddle of soup and drowned. How Peter squealed and overturned his chair as Lily levitated the drowned caterpillars out of James' ruined soup – "My soup!" James cried, "Cursed eyebrow-caterpillars!" – and stuck them back on his face without transfiguring them so that they hung limp and bedraggled and crooked, trickling bits of carrots and meat into James' eyes. How Sirius roared with laughter, and got Margaret Creevey to take pictures.

He started to think about how, twenty-seven days ago, Sirius had kissed him, but he quickly stopped and instead thought about Lily punching James in the face after he asked to have her pirate costume – "It's for me! To dress up with! I mean – to dress you up with! I mean –" and James found himself on the ground, jaw smarting and Sirius grinning lewdly and waggling his eyebrows, "Unfortunate choice of words, mate. Although _I_ wouldn't mind seeing you in a woman-pirate dress."

Peter had giggled, and Remus had snorted and James had smacked Sirius in the head, and they had gone off to Transfiguration, where Peter managed to explode his frog, spattering amphibian guts all over an extremely disgruntled Kingsley Shacklebolt, who threatened to _smash Peter's face in with a large tree_, each word slow and enunciated and threatening. Fortunately for Peter, Kingsley believed in first warnings, and both Peter and a large tree were saved from traumatic experiences (at least, the tree was. Peter kept trembling sporadically and twitching for the next few days).

He remembered how James had found his self-help books and had stared at them in incredulous disbelief.

"Two Penises are Better than One?" James sputtered, "Good God, what the bollocking hell do they use for their teeth?"

"Er," Remus attempted, "toothpaste. And," a magnificent blush spread across his cheekbones, "maybe toothbrushes."

"What," James asked, waving his arms about agitatedly, "is this bollocks?"

"Could you not," Remus whispered, "not do that." The book was brightly colored and the wizards' teeth really were blinding, and each time James' arm flung itself upwards, he thought that someone was going to _see_.

"Just bollocking what," James restrained his arms with slight difficulty, "are these?"

"Er. Books."

"Moony, they have mentions of penis in them. They have blindingly white teeth. These are not books. These are eye-killing devil spawn."

For an instant, Remus was reminded of Sirius and thought that Sirius' penchant for giving slightly gory titles of evil had really been rubbing off on James, poor soul.

"Er," Remus said, "yes, eye-killing devil spawn."

"And why would you need eye-killing devil spawn?"

"For killing eyes."

"Wrong answer, try again, mate."

"Er."

"Remus, are you a – a – ho-mo-sex-u-al?" James carefully enunciated the syllables, as if he were a little afraid of their meaning.

"No!"

"Okay. Then why do you have these?"

"Because – because," because Sirius kissed me and I think I might have liked it, Remus wanted to say. "Because." And the words refused to form upon his stonily inanimate lips and tongue and vocal cords, but perhaps it was really the fault of his lungs, which refused to either contract or expand, or perhaps his heart, which did not seem to be properly functioning as the lack of parts of his brain might suggest or . . . .

There was a silence that stretched interminably and awkwardly.

"Remus, is this about Sirius?" James suddenly blurted, looking slightly frightened, eyes worried and round. Remus could only imagine what was going through his head.

"Er."

"It is, isn't it," and James had bolted from the dormitory, leaving behind fluttering pages and the air of apprehensiveness.

Remus sighed, rubbing his shoulder blades against the less-splintered part of the wall. Nothing much had come out of James' realization except a new sort of watchfulness, a slight narrowing of eyes whenever Sirius went off on one of his exhibitionist displays or tangents, a small, pondering frown when Sirius wasn't paying attention. Sirius had noticed, Remus thought, feeling a piece of wood poking his back, he had noticed but hadn't known why James was being . . . protective.

But James had always been like that. Irresponsible but somehow maternal; James made sure they were all okay in the end, kept the group together.

There was a sudden surge of anger – James was a nosy prick, what was he doing going through his stuff anyway. And it dissipated, just as suddenly as it had appeared, fleeting but scarring.

He shuddered as he felt the minutes dwindling under the fiercely glaring face of the moon, as he felt his spine stiffen and snap and arch and break. As he became something less human, something less than himself, angry, angry and snarling, wanting to fill the gaping hole inside with blood.

The wolf screamed in fury and flung itself at the door, again, again, until it splintered under its great, heaving body, thrusting treacherous wooden spikes through its thickly furred coat. Screamed in pain, and flung itself down the hall, where something moved, warm and filled with scents of fear and _meat_.

There was a jumbled mass of noises the wolf did not understand, something in it shouted in protest and it hesitated, wary. Sprang forward, jaws clicking on empty air. Howled in disappointment and loss, clawing at the sudden barrier.

Something missing, not here, not here, and the wolf bit and shrieked and clawed and did not understand.

Remus only understood when he woke up in the hospital wing, bandaged and exhausted.

"You fucking idiot! You fucking idiot! What the fuck were you fucking thinking!" James was shouting in a hoarse whisper. Remus wondered what he was talking about. Did the plan not go right? Then he remembered – there was no adventure last night, only lonely torment that brought waves of pain.

Sirius sat on the hospital bed opposite, surly and unhappy. Peter sat timidly beside him, looking at his hands.

"Fuck if you're not the fucking stupidest shit to have ever fucking lived!"

Remus groaned, and they all froze.

"Remus!" James cried.

"What," Remus said in a low voice, "happened?"

"Fuck up, James." Sirius snarled, and smashed the door behind him. His rapid, echoing footsteps sounded empty, hollow.

"_Fuck_." James' eyes flicked towards the door, towards Remus. "Fuck. Moony – fuck. Sirius. Shit."

"James, go." Peter's voice was surprisingly softly firm. "Sirius."

James tore out of the hospital wing.

Remus looked at Peter. "So, what's all this?"

---------------------------

Sirius' arms were covered in blood. For a horrifying split second of eternity it seemed as if Sirius was going to die, a suicide of broken trust, but then James realized the blood was dripping from Sirius' knuckles, dripping from the shattered mirror that spilled its razor-edged pieces into the sink and on the pristine white tiles.

"Fuck," Sirius was yelling, "Fuck!" His fingers tore at the stall door, staining it with blood, tearing off fingernails framed with crimson oozing until James screamed "stop!"

Sirius whirled about and launched his fist towards James' face. Slippery wrists were caught in shaking hands, and they tumbled to the floor, Sirius gasping and choking with tears.

He flopped over onto his back, long hair sticky with snot and salty water. James bent over Sirius' body like a monk at prayer and clutched his best friend's shoulders with self-control that threatened to splinter into suffocating desperation.

"Shit, shit," Sirius whimpered, almost convulsively in time with his coughing sobs of furor and loathing.

"Shut up," James whispered, "shut up, Sirius, shut up, God." He buried his face in Sirius' red-smeared shirt.

The bell rang, meaningless, blankly repeated against sterile white walls, over, and over, and over again.

---------------------------

"Well," Peter was far calmer than Remus had ever thought possible, at least for Peter, "Snape found out how to get to the Shrieking Shack and he saw you."

Remus felt something crumble and turn to nothing in his hands. "He what." Fell from numb lips like leaden bullets against the snow.

"Sirius told him how to get past the Whomping Willow."

Below the disintegration Remus marveled at Peter's cool tone and wondered why Peter had never been like this before.

"You came after Snape, and James went and dragged him out just before you attacked him."

Dust blowing in the wind; Remus could no longer understand.

"James made him shut up for a bit, but I think Dumbledore's going to talk to him."

The bell rang, and its shrillness seemed to shatter Remus to pieces.

"Well," Peter said, "someone has to go to class. And I don't think James or Sirius are. Going, I mean." Peter offered Remus a sort of half-smile, strangely heartening set in his round face. "Cheer up, mate; Dumbledore'll sort it out."

Remus wondered below the surface exactly when Peter had found this strength and reassurance.

---------------------------

Sirius stared at the shards of the broken mirror that littered the floor. He could see bits and pieces of himself: an eye here, lips there. Could see himself as shards laced with red. Wondered if he put the mirror back together, would he be able to piece Remus back together, too?

James had left some time ago, eyes worried and mouth frowning, muttering a spell to make sure no one found Sirius like this. James had left, because if James and Sirius and Remus were missing, people would start to suspect. James had left because he wasn't sure what to do with Sirius anymore.

Sirius didn't really mind. The anger had given way to a quiet sort of emptiness, as if he had run out of feelings after he smashed to tinkling splinters the porcelain of the toilet.

---------------------------

James thought it was ridiculous, the way that Sirius was given to sulking and angry silences full of kinetic anger. He jabbed at his frog irritably.

Peter looked at him, with round eyes. "Is Sirius okay?"

James glanced at Peter. "He's such a berk, sometimes," James said suddenly. "God. I hate him so much right now but he's my best mate, you know, and --" James' hands fluttered helplessly.

Peter nodded his head in a way that fell just short of 'sage-like', and chopped his caterpillar thoughtfully.

"Well, you know, Sirius is just one of those mercurial personalities. You have to take the good with the bad, rather, else you don't get any of him at all," Peter said after a long pause.

James stared at him for a moment. "I'm not really in the mood for homegrown psychology right now, Pete."

Peter looked a little pleased, a little ashamed. "Homegrown, eh? Eh?" He seemed to find it extraordinarily funny, for reasons completely unbeknownst to James.

James looked blank. Peter coughed.

"So, anyway. Sirius."

"Er. Yes. Er. So . . . " James flailed for a conversational topic that would drag Peter away from the sporadic bursts of humour he seemed prone to recently. "Have you seen Moony recently?"

Peter immediately sobered. "No. Well, sort of. Does a foot count?"

"What?" James nearly dropped something rather pointy onto something that oughtn't have pointy things dropped on it.

"Not like that! He's not gone and gotten any bits chopped off of him, if that's what you mean. I just saw his foot sticking out his bed curtain this morning. He's back in the dormitory."

"Oh. Oh. Okay, then," James looked immediately relieved.

"So," Peter hazarded, "is Sirius still in the loo?"

"That idiot. Fucking in love with the fucking toilet, is what. 's been there since fucking yesterday, the stubborn arse." James stabbed his cauldron viciously.

(Sirius had actually emerged, once, in the middle of the night. It was to frighten off a rather unfortunate first year, who had, upon encountering this strange and smelly creature wrapped about a toilet, immediately wet his pants.)

Peter looked faintly worried. "Maybe he's gotten a complex or something. You know, like _dependency_."

"Dependency? To a_ toilet_?"

"Well, maybe not dependency. Maybe he's using it as a sort of security blanket, like."

James was still skeptical. "But he's got that wotsit up in the dormitory. Teddy-bear thing. If you can call it that. It reeks like dung, though."

Peter mused for a moment, before replying, "But Moony's in the dormitory, right? And the loos smell like . . . well, loos, which smell like that wretched bear-thing. It's like transferred dependency, I think it's called."

James gaped. "Where do you _get_ this stuff?"

Peter shuffled his feet vaguely under the table. "Oh. Er. Library." Really, Peter had been visiting the exact same shelf Remus was introduced to not so long ago.

James goggled. Peter had spent too many years following James around not to know what it meant.

"There weren't any pictures in," he added hurriedly.

James looked disappointed. He didn't see the point in books without good illustrations, even if they did involve loo-scented teddy-bears.

---------------------------

Remus curled himself into a ball against the window. Somewhere above him the moon waned, high and isolated, clear white, beautiful. Dangerous. He could make some comparisons here, but he restrained himself, leaning his cheek against the cool glass of the window, breathing patterned fog. His mind scattered thoughts like pebbles in a rock tumbler, smoothing off the sharp corners, euphemisms that still sliced veracity.

The sky gleamed red outside his paneled view of the world.

_Sirius betra--told Snape. Snape knows. The school will know. I'll have to be kil--kicked out. I'm a danger to soc--the students. _

There was power, he mused, in words. He continued to run his thoughts over one another, evaluating, drawing conclusions. Surely he'd have to talk to Dumbledore, to sort out the situation. What would he say?

_I really didn't mean for them to know, it's just-- _

_They weren't supposed to figure-- _

_I never expected that Sir-- . . ._

He couldn't . . . he'd . . . And if Sirius tried to talk to him . . .

_You utter bast-- _

_I never want to tal-- _

_Why did y--?_

He chewed his lower lip determinedly. Closed his eyes. Opened them again. The moon. He could feel it, a tremendous yet exact force that dragged at his bones at precise degrees and lines that threatened to overwhelm even the trees and the grass. If he closed his eyes at just the right angle, the light would radiate off it in four points, like the cross his mother wore around her neck. What would his mother say? The bloody sky blurred at the edges as he shut his eyes, refusing to allow himself to cry, to break down.

Dusk had just barely begun to touch the trees of the Forbidden Forest when Professor McGonagall strode imperiously into the Hospital Wing.

Remus' face was a mixture between horror and relief; the two clashed oddly and left him with his mouth half-open and one eyebrow squirming to the safety of his right sideburn.

"Now, Remus, dear, there's no reason to make funny faces. We all know you're upset, but do try to calm down," Madame Pomfrey admonished gently.

Remus' squirming eyebrow froze somewhere between his eyeball and his hairline and his mouth snapped shut.

"There, that's better, dearie."

"Madame Pomfrey, if you would . . . ?" McGonagall said, eyeing Remus with something akin to pity in her eyes.

McGonagall shifted uneasily as Madame Pomfrey shut the door behind her with a quiet _snick_. She looked displaced, nervous, even. Her dark robes contrasted severely against the white of the hospital bed, swishing as she sat.

"Now, Mr. Lupin," she drew an aged looking tin of biscuits from the air, "Biscuits? Perhaps some tea?"

Remus shook his head and said quietly, "No, thank you."

McGonagall cleared her throat, offering Remus a smile through thin lips that, through years of practice, was unable to look anything but stern. "I suppose, considering recent events, you'd like to know exactly what is going on."

Remus bit his lower lip again, raising his eyes to McGonagall's austere shins. He barely opened his mouth as he recited Peter's words, "Snape found out how to get to the Shrieking Shack and he saw me. Sirius told him how to get past the Whomping Willow. I came after Snape, and James went and dragged him out just before I attacked him." The words seemed foreign, coming from his mouth.

McGonagall pursed her lips, "A very accurate summary, Mr. Lupin. However, I suppose you wish to know what will happen to all those involved?"

Remus mumbled something which might have been, "I already know," but might also have been, "yellow snow."

"Pardon?"

Remus nodded instead.

McGonagall shook the awkward tension from her shoulders, more at ease in punishment than reassurance, "Mr. Black, Mr. Potter, Mr. Snape, and yourself have been arranged to meet with the Headmaster in his office after dinner. Both Professor Slughorn and I, as the heads of houses of the parties involved, will be present. It will be up to the Headmaster to decide upon appropriate punishments."

Remus winced inwardly, drawing his chin further into his chest.

The discomfited tension resettled itself around McGonagall's jaw line. "I understand that this is a very harrowing time for you, Mr. Lupin –Remus. Is there anything you'd like to discuss with me?" The words came out strange, as if gentility was a foreign concept to the professor.

Remus shook his head again.

"Very well. Until eight o'clock, then."

McGonagall swept out of the ward, and all around Remus sanguine light fell.

---------------------------

"I brought you a shirt and some trousers," James said awkwardly. His free hand fluttered nervously between his ear and the clothes held against his side and ended up jammed into his pocket.

Sirius looked up at the ceiling, stonily silent, blood-stained arms tight against his knees.

"Your hands," James attempted, "are they all right, then?"

Sirius continued to look at the ceiling. James began to feel frustrated – Sirius never talked when he was upset, never fucking ever said anything. It made him feel useless, made him feel helpless.

"You know what," he said, "fuck this." He dropped to his knees and roughly grabbed Sirius' hands. "_Scourgify_."

There was an answering hiss and Sirius' hands jerked convulsively between James'.

"_Accio_, bandages."

"Shit," Sirius whispered between clenched teeth, "_give_ me those." He wrenched the white rolls from adolescent hands and yanked them about his own.

---------------------------

Remus lay back, studying again the curves and shadows that shifted through his bed hangings. His Transfiguration text weighed heavy on his chest, grounding him, stopping him from springing up and doing something foolish (like moving). All that was left to do was think, and that he did, carefully arranging the paper dolls of his friends (makeshift family) in his head.

James, his protective streak, like a mother hen, but a little more unbalanced, slightly crazed, maintaining the safety of the group by fists and a mouth like a sailor's. He was mad, naturally, but a predictable sort of madness, the kind you could rely upon to tackle you in the middle of homework and drag you on a broom ride over the Lake to taunt the Giant Squid. Chalk it up to father figure, then, and Remus was suddenly reminded of a Muggle television show he had once watched ("You can date once you're married!" and Remus smiled).

And if James was the father, would that leave Peter as the mother? (his mental James voice screaming, "Noooo! Evaaaanss!") The live-in uncle, then, a constant presence, not particularly remarkable, but occasionally surprising, comforting, and most importantly _there._

Which left Sirius, because Remus had never been sure of his own position within the group, the way he slipped quickly from the coddled child to the ("fucking _Prefect_," groaned discouragingly when he tried to convince them that lighting the Common Room on fire was breaking more school rules than he could count) disciplinarian, but just barely (because they never _listened_, had they, and he'd never really tried to make them).

But Sirius . . . he noticed his breath had quickened, the textbook rising and falling faster, faster on his ribcage, because his fear had transmuted itself into something small and cruel and vile and _angry_, but he suppressed that, feeling his face grow hot with the effort, and glanced at the clock on his bedside.

It was time to go.

---------------------------

The air of Dumbledore's office was cool against Remus' burning cheeks. He felt cramped, despite the spaciousness of the room, jammed between a bookcase and a wall, trying to disappear into their shadows. Beside him, James cast about anxious glances. He was fidgety, unnerved, ill at ease.

Peter, too, was nervous, but his nervousness seemed to translate into the damp patches on his shirt; wet, and translucent. If Remus had grabbed Peter's hand, it would have been clammy, and cold.

The two professors loomed ominously, while Dumbledore serenely nodded behind his chair. Remus vaguely wondered what music he was bobbing to, if any.

Remus shoved himself further into his little corner as Sirius stomped into the room, the angry jangling of boots signaling his arrival. There was no anxiety, only anger that clung to the folds of his clothes like cobwebs and jerked at muscles and bone – sharp angles and hard geometry ill-concealed by the softness of robes and school uniforms.

Remus watched him surreptitiously, fascinated. His fingers trembled against his folded arms.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "And that leaves, if I am not mistaken, Mr. Snape . . . ."

The door slammed open, and a sudden wash of icy cold bleached the blood of Remus' body. Right, he thought determinedly, Not looking. Not looking not looking.

"Biscuits, anyone?"

No one wanted any.

Dumbledore sighed, and steepled his fingers. "I am sure we all know why we have gathered here today, but so that we may all begin on the same page, I would like to ask some of you to recount last night's occurrences. Mr. Lupin . . . ?"

Remus mumbled something about not really remembering much, looking determinedly at his feet. Snape hissed under his breath, _abominable filth_, and Remus blushed, thinking, Don't look.

"Mr. Snape, I will not tolerate slurs of any sort in my office."

Snape glowered, and Dumbledore turned to Peter.

"I – oh, er. Um. Well." Excellent start, Pete old boy, Peter thought to himself. "Er. Remus turned into a werewolf and Snape went and poked at him and James went and got Snape. Er."

"Admirably eloquent statement," Snape muttered. McGonagall made an ill-suppressed _tsk_ of annoyance, and Peter turned blotchily pink. Slughorn coughed uneasily.

Dumbledore ignored them. "Mr. Potter?"

"'gree with Peter."

And Dumbledore looked at him, and kept looking until "so I saw Sni – Snape walking down to the Whomping Willow and so I, er, followed him, and pulled him out when he went in." Which was, of course, a lie, but Snape didn't know that.

They had been there all along – James, Peter, and Sirius. They had hidden in a closet when they heard someone approaching, and had only realized too late that it wasn't a professor walking up the stairs.

"_Shit_," Sirius had said, "It's Snape."

James had gone icy cold with a strange mixture of fear and fury. "I am going to fucking kill you," and had pelted off to drag that fucking _fucking_ idiot back from the door, where already an angry wolf screamed with the moon.

"– which leaves Mr. Black and Mr. Snape. Mr. Black first, if you please."

Sirius tossed his head angrily. "_Snivels_ was –"

"_Mister_ Black," McGonagall interjected irately.

"No, no, Minerva." Dumbledore waved his hand. "Continue."

"He was provoking me. And I insulted him. And I said more than I ought."

"– his statement was no doubt a calculated –" Snape started.

"_Is that all?_" cut like knives.

"Yes. That's all."

"Now. Mr. Snape; doubtless you have something to say."

"Sirius Black fully intended to lead me on into a trap in which _he knew_," Snape spat, "that filthy werewolf would attack me, bringing into question your dubious ability to lead this school safely. I must demand the immediate expulsion of –"

"I would think, Mr. Snape," McGonagall snapped, "that Professor Dumbledore would understand the administrative post of Hogwarts better than a student. Disrespect will not be tolerated."

Behind her, Slughorn hemmed and hawed.

"Minerva, I appreciate your, ah, defence, however, I should like to give Severus an equal opportunity to fully state his opinions, however impertinent in nature towards me they may be. Continue, if you wish."

Snape looked disconcerted and opened his mouth with nothing to say.

"Excellent! It seems Mr. Snape has finished. Now, then," tipping an enormous wink to Remus, "so that we may all return to our beds in good time – fifty points to Gryffindor for admirable consciousness and quick-thinking, and twenty points from both Slytherin and Gryffindor for inter-house quarreling. I should like to speak to Mr. Black and Mr. Snape in private; the rest of you may leave. Minerva, Horace."

Remus' insides squirmed with relief and concern – and just as the door was shutting, he looked back.

---------------------------

Sirius was restless like anything. His bed was lumpy, and the sheets itched, and everything was too hot and bothersome and buggering _lumpy_.

He really did try. He tried counting to one thousand but found that he could make that sign the Spock-man-thing was always making on that Muggle television show, Star Voyages or something, with his toes. He tried breathing very regularly but then found that counting and breathing and making signs with his toes along with holding conversations with himself in his head was quite possible to do, especially all at once.

Buggre alle this for a lark, he thought, and stole James' pants.

He wandered out into the corridors, clomping vaguely with boots that had half their clamps missing and anyway it wouldn't have mattered if they were there, since he never really laced them anyway.

And so, with his circularly questing mind, untied boots, and James' pants, he wandered about the castle, poking his tongue into places that hadn't seen the light of day for rather a while, and getting his fingers caught on groin plates (Oy, the suit of armor had said irritably, Get yer fingers out 'o there 'for Oi beat 'choo to a pulp, and clanked menacingly, formidably rusty axe in hand).

He traversed the hallways, the empty classrooms, the rooms of tapestries and gently snoring portraits. Yet below his ingenuous curiosity, malcontent began to simmer.

He began to feel unhappy.

He paced, restively, resentfully, kicking at the ground. He wanted to apologise, apologise properly, say sorry and beg forgiveness and look into Moony's face and see it was all right again, see that he could go about laughing his fucking head off, and slurp in people's ears, and not feel guilty anymore.

Instead, he said, "Hey, where'd that come from?" and looked curiously at the door that had mysteriously appeared in the face of a blank stone wall.

"Well," he said, and pushed the door open with scabbed hands.

It was warmly lit, and seemed to contain a great deal of books and pillows and the like. A fireplace crackled cheerfully, and the gentle odor of tea and biscuits permeated the air.

And perched on a particularly squashy-looking pillow with a neatly arranged tray beside him was one (1) Remus Lupin.

They looked at each other, both a little too shocked to do anything.

"Er," Sirius said.

"Um," Remus added.

"Hello," rather strangledly.

"Tea?" Remus said automatically, harking back to his country upbringing where you offered everyone tea even if there was really only enough for one.

"Yes, thank you," and Sirius sat with the reflexes of an aristocrat, which he was, even if he was rather bad at it.

"Urgh." Remus fell off his pillow reaching for the tea set he hadn't noticed was behind him. Being a country gentleman didn't mean you couldn't be a bumbling oaf as well.

Sirius watched with a magnificent blush spreading across his cheekbones as Remus poured hot steaming tea, added milk, cream, and sugar – that was a lot of sugar, Sirius reflected, but then again, he liked his tea very, very sweet, and anyway Remus always made his tea just right – and handed the teacup and its saucer to him.

Their hands brushed, and Sirius flinched. The tea spilled.

"I'm," he burst, "I'm sorry, and I – fuck – I'm such a goddamned idiot and I'm so fucking sorry and there's nothing I can do but say sorry, and fuck –" mortified wetness ran down his cheeks; he was such a fucking _girl_ "– fuck, I, I'm sorry," and everything became a jumbled babble of sobs and snot and words.

Remus put his arms around Sirius and his chin bumped into Sirius' head and his spine was all twisted and the crotch of his pants rode up around his legs in the most uncomfortable sort of way, but Sirius clung to him and cried and cried and cried and it didn't matter that his vertebrae were going to splurt out of his back, and he didn't care if he became sterile for life, because Sirius needed him and he was there and he was needed.

And it was an eternity and a forever they sat there, muffled sobs and bodies that were angles and planes and lines against the spherical geometry of the world.

Sirius' tears gradually passed away into hiccups and hiccups slowly passed into a shuddering silence that was simultaneously amiable and awkward, because, well, they were _boys_, and boys didn't do this sort of thing; they didn't go around crying and comforting each other, especially not when, when, well, you know.

But it didn't matter – didn't matter at all, even with Remus' spine bent into punctuation and Sirius' knuckles split white beneath the oozing red, and snot mixed with tears mixed with laughter, because Sirius is beautiful when he sleeps.

End Note: IN ACCORDANCE with ORDINANCE NUMBER FIFTY THREE we are OBLIGED to REMIND YOU that BIG BROTHER is WATCHING.

P.S. Review!


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